


25 Days of X-mas

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Tekken
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Attempted Seduction, Awkwardness, Bodily Fluids, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Crack Relationships, Dark, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Enemies, Father Figures, First Crush, Fluff and Crack, Food Kink, Game Spoilers, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Love at First Sight, M/M, Married Couple, Military, Military Kink, Military Ranks, Military Uniforms, Mutually Unrequited, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgasm Denial, Orphans, Pining, Pre-Slash, Randomness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Scents & Smells, Secretly a Virgin, Semi-Public Sex, Sensuality, Sex Swing, Snacks & Snack Food, Suspension, Topping from the Bottom, Unrequited Love, War, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-02-16 20:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: a bunch of random shit/crack/sex happening in December1st Day, Hwoarang/Jin Kazama2nd Day, Claudio Serafino/Robert Richards (Slim Bob)3rd Day, Hwoarang/Jin Kazama #24th Day, Tougou/Lars Alexandersson5th Day, Bruce Irving/Sergei Dragunov6th Day, Heihachi Mishima/Feng Wei7th Day, King/Craig Marduk8th Day, Craig Marduk/King #29th Day, Ancient Ogre/Eddy Gordo.....





	1. 1st Day of X-mas

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE.
> 
> for two decades and a half (literally at 3 or 4 years old, give or take) i've been obsessed with Tekken 3 Jin Kazama. i spent a minute remembering myself being too short to play an old school public arcade game & resorted to paying people to play as Jin while i watched...ohhh those were the Days~!  
> Is it possible that the fucker could get any HOTTER!?!?!?  
> as if i don't have enough on my plate right now...oh, i decided on an underaged-Jin pre-canon because no matter how many game pamphlets i owned, they were always inconsistent except that Hwoarang was (at least) 2 years older, 2 cm taller & 2 kg heavier...or something like that

He leaned against an alley wall, listening to the blaring music from a basement band – hearing the spitfire fast lyrics half in thought and the other half in anger, Hwoarang quickly lost interest and found himself outside, staring at delinquent graffiti: one promising an 'easy lay', another advertising a 'love hotel' and a stylized mash of words yelling in bright red words 'Kazama Trash'.

“Only sixteen-” Hwoarang took a short drag from his cigarette, he breathed out his incredulous self-observation, “-and I _lost_.”

There was a kid in a Mishima Polytechnic uniform, nothing special, just a pressed white polo and plaid slacks, the kid's quiet shyness caught Hwoarang's attention – he thought of robbing the kid blind first through money then taking his studded red gloves and his preppy leather shoes...but...the boy was so _pretty_.

First setting eyes on sixteen-year-old Jin Kazama surprised the hell out of Hwoarang, and hearing his grandfather was the head of the Mishima Zaibatsu – Hwoarang knew he struck gold then, but actually squaring up against Heihachi's only known grandson was another deal altogether – he never lived down his defeat to this day.

Shame became anger, then hate, hate boiled down into something else – hesitating the final blow on Jin during the fifth tournament should have been the first warning, feeling the tiniest bitter prickle of jealousy seeing Jin flanked by Alisa during the sixth tournament signaled his defeat, Hwoarang refused partnering with Jin during both annual Tag Tournaments – seeing Jin in Devil form and springing a raging hard-on in his jeans was painful enough to fight through during the recently held seventh tournament.

“What the hell was that all about?” Hwoarang asked himself, he stubbed out the burned cigarette on the wall and stared at the red lettering, “'Kazama trash'.”

He reached into his back pocket and held up a Violet Systems envelope – the contents were transparent: a cybernetic bio enhancement surgery voucher for _any_ body part. Hwoarang already entertained the thought of _enhancing_ his cock, but decided against it with a grim sneer, pocketing the voucher, he swung a leg over his chopper and kickstarted the engine to life.

 _Someone_ had to replace his right eye after all.


	2. 2nd Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudio Serafino/Robert Richards (Slim Bob)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is becoming one of my fave crack pairings... XP

Days ago, Bob was more or less conned into going along with Claudio and trusted to be fed – Claudio cooked the most sumptuous meals and even more masterful desserts, had the Sirius Archers minions lay out the banquet, and until a minute ago Claudio declared, “Oh, you thought the food was _free_ , did you?”

So Bob answered in a panic, feeling the chance of eating the most beautiful meal slipping away, “I owe you?”

“Cute,” was all Claudio said before pushing Bob's body over the full banquet table, tearing his far-too baggy pants away and spreading his muscled thighs far apart, his tongue snaking out and tasting Bob's entrance, he smiled reverently, “Ah. My favorite...”

Confused, Bob gulped, wide-eyed and all too aware of the wet slippery muscle darting around beneath his tailbone, Claudio's gloved fingers digging into his slim naked hips, hitching his body closer to the edge of the table, savoring each sweep of his tongue against virgin flesh – Bob nearly squealed the second Claudio eased a single finger into his ass, parting his skin with a thick layer of butter and honey. Bob's mind flashed white, his body convulsed in hot-cold waves, the feel of a firm cock against his thigh reminded him he was straight – he grabbed hold of a loaf and hugged the bread against his body as if it would save him from Claudio's intentions, Bob stuttered, “W-wait! I'm not g-!”

Claudio simply leaned over him, grasping Bob by the baggy hoodie's slack hood and flipping his body so that he was partially turned upward from his stomach – Claudio devoured every word, his tongue sweeping in with the surest of movements, claiming himself and triumphing over Bob's hunger, making silent promises that he would only bring pleasure – Bob groaned, his mouth opened, his lips pressed against Claudio's own smiling lips fully, the Italian exorcist pulled back only slightly, enough to hoist Bob's right leg over his left arm as the fingers of his right hand continued their teasing.

“Please, don't mind me,” Claudio intoned, pressing a small Danish against Bob's kiss-swollen lips and licking up globs of icing that dripped down unto Bob's pectorals from the sticky pastry, he goaded softly between licks, “Eat to your heart's content.”

“Cl-Claudio-!” Bob gasped as the pastry fell from his mouth, his body spread atop the dining table, his hands gripping a napkin and a clean fork in the other being the only things he could reach – so far, Bob could barely get a single bite in whilst he was bent backward over the platters of food, the bony protrusions of his hips gripped firmly in Claudio's capable hands, he was not really hungry, but he decided that he should get back to his three-hundred pounds plus size before the next tag tournament, or else get his own and his partners' collective skinny asses kicked into the losers' bracket – he gripped at Claudio's shoulders and breathed a stuttering whimper into his neatly combed hair, “I c-can't be seen like th- _this_ -!”

“How right you are. _Mi scuz_ _z_ _i_ ,” Claudio pulled back the tiniest bit, watching the embarrassment apparent on Bob's face – Claudio knew he was growing too fond of Bob's insecurities of his weight, especially how fetching the american became with fewer clothing and even less means to fight his hunger – he kissed each defined dip and muscle on the way down, leaving a reverent nibble on Bob's tight navel which twitched against his lips, reaching his destination, Claudio chuckled inwardly, “You're far too _scrumptious_.”

Bob cringed inwardly, feeling teeth gently nibbling around his perineum, every nerve seeming is if they were pulled continuously by Claudio's teeth and tongue, the last time he had sex was an embarrassingly long time ago, either he was too busy training or too busy eating to keep his weight up – at that moment, he was mentally calculating each calorie he had burned squirming helplessly atop the table, being powerless to put anything past his lips unless he wanted to risk choking, a single digit pressed past his lips at the same moment Claudio's tongue pushed languidly into his body – his year of masturbation ended as his body curled into a ball, custard frosting sliding down his throat and his cock pulsing thick spurts into the air, Bob cried out.

Claudio stood and admired his handiwork: his sated guest prostrated in a tangle of voluptuous muscle and splayed limbs, blonde hair matted against his face, lips open and eyes half-shut, chest rising and falling with each labored breath – Claudio leaned back down, collecting each thick white drop upon his tongue.

“Seems like I'll have to feed you then,” he said, laying atop the american, he tilted Bob's chin and demanded softly, “Say ' _ah_ '!”

Bob opened his mouth, swallowing each creamy honeyed drop of his own essence mixed with his host's saliva, Claudio pressed his lips atop to ensure that Bob would swallow and he did so gratefully of the meal, being that he never wasted a single bite.


	3. 3rd Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a Part 2 continuation of Hwoarang/Jin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if it's angsty

Words were words, puffs of angry breath in the cold air – Jin stood silently, his back against a barren tree in the nearly deserted park district – Hwoarang stood over him, looking down at him with an imperfect set of eyes, he reached up to trace the outline of Hwoarang's milky right eye, but Hwoarang was faster, grasping his hand in a tight grip and throwing him down unto the snowy ground, “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Hwoarang sat atop Jin's abdomen, his left arm braced on Jin's muscular right shoulder and his left holding down Jin's lax right wrist against the snow – he stared down at Jin, his enemy, his longtime rival and only reason for fighting in the tournaments; he watched the impassive expression Jin always wore give way in the slightest, his thick Mishima eyebrows lost it's severe angle and his brown eyes lowered as fathomless and unreadable as always – his baritone voice came out a whisper, a seemingly insensitive question, “Did it hurt?”

“Why not try finishing up the job, Kazama?” Hwoarang asked, his hand squeezed both Jin's right shoulder and his left wrist, just to hurt or in the slightest _threaten_ Jin, but he wished just as much to _touch_ him, the main source of years of both frustrated yearning and a culmination of unending failure, to see if Jin was in fact the same cute seventeen-year old he had fought in the third tournament – a wicked idea came to him then, Hwoarang brought Jin's hand from the snow and unto his awaiting crotch.

Jin's eyes widened, his calm breath caught in his throat and a delicious tension snapped the tendons in his neck taut, his thumb twitched which led to his entire hand trembling – Hwoarang smirked, enjoying the torture his rival was enduring, “You want it.”

Jin simply turned his gaze away, his eyes glazing over as a flush betrayed his disinterest – Hwoarang felt himself come alive, his skin warming beneath Jin's gloved hand, the pressure of his jeans tightening over his hips and cock – he leaned down against Jin's ear, breathing hotly unto the shell where dark strands tickled his nose, “C'mon, this can't be the _first_ time you've ever _touched_ a cock.”

Jin's entire body shuddered under Hwoarang's hips, Jin's hood fell away, leaving his entire face and neck exposed, a deep crimson flushing his cheeks – Hwoarang nibbled the exposed neck, his teeth scraping against the unmarred flesh until reddened lines stood out against Jin's skin.

“It's all you're good for anyway-” Hwoarang felt his blood beating through his tense muscles, rushing through his head and pooling south of his navel, building a load to shame his rival – he ground his clothed cock harder unto Jin's lax palm, savoring the virgin-like reactions Jin was showing – he hissed as he bit Jin's ear, “-destroying everything you touch-”

“You're nothing but a _monster_ -” Hwoarang spat out the words he associated with Jin the most, vengeful satisfaction lacing each syllable and his tongue tasting each nervous sweat drop along Jin's cheekbones, “-a _damned_ _freak_!”

He recalled lusting after Jin Kazama with a hateful passion, to kick his ass with the equal need to fuck it and screw himself into Jin's perfectly flawless legacy – Jin spoke then, his voice as colorless and unchanged as always, “I know.”

“Shaking your ass in front of me-!” Hwoarang bit Jin's collarbone, his teeth cutting through the relaxed flesh and lapping the faint ebb of blood flowing unto his tongue – Hwoarang slid off Jin's body and hurriedly tore down Jin's leather jacket, the zipper breaking in his haste – Hwoarang's own words sounded far away the more of Jin's flesh he bared, his mind losing all reasoning the longer he held Jin down underneath his body like a conquered beast, “Always winning-!”

Hwoarang's hands quickly skimmed Jin's body, testing the muscled swell of Jin's pectorals and the packed sinew of his abdomen, the dim lighting revealed little as he tried to take all of Jin's body into memory through his lone left eye, he instead broke open Jin's belt buckle and reached into Jin's pants – he groaned to himself, “Fucking _tease_ -!”

In his hand, Jin's own cock was completely soft, not a single twitch or a vein stood out to show even the slightest interest – caught off guard, Hwoarang stared hard into the darkness, his left eye straining to make as much sense of the dull gray of the night, searching snow for his rival's reaction, a lone tear slid down Jin's cheek and became lost in the snow – Hwoarang's mind set on revenge went blank, the heat of his pleasure he felt earlier now cooled to the same temperamen of ice.

“Che!” Hwoarang exhaled, he numbly pulled his hand out from Jin's pants – he stood up on his legs and stepped away from Jin's prone body as if to distance himself from another thing he failed at: making Jin _want_ him, “I got shit to do.”

Hwoarang pulled out a cigarette and lit, the instantaneous flash of his lighter casting a glaring scene that he will not soon forget: Jin's body laid out and open like a ravaged carcass – the fact that Hwoarang brought out the exact opposite result of his earlier plan was enough to shut down his own need for sex, he turned away and said over his shoulder, “I'll take my revenge some other time, maybe when you learn the ways of the world first.”

Long after the sound of Hwoarang's motorcycle became silent, Jin brushed a hand over the tiny blood clot on his collarbone, he breathed out, “I deserve this...”

His mother, Jun, was the center of his world, the one whom introduced him to the universe and taught him three principles: mercy, kindness and peace. After she had disappeared, everything that was good and virtuous became a singular nothingness, he was empty, wandering the mountains of Hokkaido without aim or purpose, alas coming across Heihachi Mishima, he was quickly taken in after a paternity test from a father he had never known, being sired by Kazuya Mishima was no easy feat despite all this grandfather's given luxuries: a home, a Mishima V8 motorcycle, enrollment at Mishima Polytechnic and a step-sister whom loved him as easily as a lost sibling.

Heihachi quickly rewrote the family tree and allowed Jin free reign over the Zaibatsu properties – and also, just as quickly, forbidden Jin from practicing the Kazama-style karate and instead taught the Mishima-style with a cold madness, as if to completely wash out all of Jin's earlier training and to make him a competent replica devoted on taking up the Mishima Zaibatsu's mantle one day – all was going according to Heihachi's plan until Jin laid eyes on a certain Korean street punk...

He remembered being sixteen and going through his awkward-stage, the time when his grandfather was already giving formal marriage-interviews and he was given no say as to whom he would be betrothed to in the distant future – first setting eyes on the Korean biker set his entire life in motion: his hair was long and the loudest red hue, his lips always quirked up in a mocking sneer, his eyes shining like dark fire and his muscles pronounced which contrasted from his seemingly delicate looks.

'So beautiful,' Jin thought to himself in his distant youth, he recalled standing around at a food stall with his grandfather just twenty paces away – luring the Korean street gang to take the bait and incite a contest, a cigarette flicked dead near his shoe as he averted his gaze from the gang's leader whom leaned against a parked chopper.

“You lost, pretty-boy?” the Korean punk asked, the sneer in his words vocalizing his superiority – Jin's eyes shot from the floor and caught unto the leader's bored stare, “Hey, I’m talking to you-”

Heihachi showed up then, he addressed the gang's leader, asking if he was Baek Doo San's student the legendary Blood Talon – the leader stood up from the chopper and shrugged, “Yeah. So what's it to you, old man? Want an autograph on your ass?”

The two struck a deal, again, Jin was unable to object when Heihachi handed him a pair of studded leather combat gloves, Hwoarang approached as if he was a young demigod and all the world was his to destroy, such cockiness all the more entranced Jin – his muscles remembered the starting form of the Mishima-style, and so he stepped into his defensive form, inviting attack so that he would defend and deal his hits in kind – Hwoarang simply bounced into form and gave the first swift assault with his heel. Lacking experience, Jin was overwhelmed but not defeated, he launched an offensive, fending off the kicks by dealing lightning-like counter punches once an opening presented itself – Hwoarang easily adapted to Jin's style, striking low and baiting him in with feigns which morphed into a deadly onslaught of kicks.

Curious, Jin glanced to his grandfather whom looked unimpressed, he was at the end of his wits defending against the unstoppable Blood Talon, there was a single move that he knew would end the fight and ultimately cost the gang leader's health if dealt, he knew Heihachi was counting on seeing the end-result of the deadly form called the 'Demon's Paw'. Instead, Jin went with the safer choice, a move he had not used until that very second, he caught Hwoarang off guard by turning counter-clockwise, striking out with his right fist and left foot at the same time – both strikes found their target true, Hwoarang staggered back from the double blows, Jin continued the full string to Heihachi's complete dismay – the third strike from his left hand was accidentally blocked, he spun his body back clockwise and the fourth strike with his right leg knocked Hwoarang to the ground.

Glancing to his grandfather, Jin saw the nod which signaled to end the fight – Jin dashed back five paces and enclosed himself, feeling his power building within his chest, snapping hot tendrils through his body, burning the edge of his spine, he spun clockwise, each rotation bringing him closer to Hwoarang as he finally stood back up to defend himself – Jin shot himself off the ground, his uppercut breaking through Hwoarang's crossed arms, felling the undefeated Korean gang's leader and forever cementing himself on Hwoarang's shit-list.

Jin stood up alas from the snow, he only bothered to do up his pants as he looked up into the gray sky; he whispered, “I deserve all of this.”

As a way of apologizing, Jin recalled spending the entire trip back to the Zaibatsu convincing Heihachi to enroll Hwoarang at the Mishima Polytechnic School, and finally got his way after relenting in his stubborn outlook against the marriage-interviews – though Hwoarang was ninteen at the time, he still had not gotten his formal diploma of education and so was instead taking a year to refresh for quarterly exams – the one year Jin was finally at peace with being ignored by Hwoarang, he decided to leave small gifts of money and lunch boxes as a further apology for marring Hwoarang's perfect fight record – before he could formally confess his growing attraction, Hwoarang was called back to Korea by the military and was scheduled to begin training under supervision.

Jin kept his emotions bottled for far too long – by either making his standing to Hwoarang worse or under the world's biased views as the youngest living Mishima, he hoped that he would one day be comfortable enough to confess his love at both semiannual Tag Tournaments only to be turned down at the very last minute – Jin picked up the discarded cigarette Hwoarang had stubbed out in the snow, the apology he tried to word came out more condescending than consoling, he flicked away the butt at length and said, “I deserve everything.”

Hwoarang had every right to use Jin's body as a means of revenge.


	4. 4th Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tougou/Lars Alexandersson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry Christmas, happy holidays!

He smelled like the clean burn of a dead fuse, the barrell of a gun fired until it became hot and the clip replaced, the bitter muskiness of sweat and adrenaline, a sharp balminess from the kevlar-titanium blend exoskeleton of their modified Tekkenshu battle armor – Lars pressed his nose against Togou's ear where the scalp met neck, he kissed Tougou's pulse, his lips softly whispering up along the hot flesh straight into Tougou's neatly kept hairline, breathing deep, he mused to himself of Tougou's spicy scent and how he was able to sniff out his Lieutenant even amidst the heat of a firefight.

“Lars,” Tougou murmured, shifting their bodies slightly and jarring his embedded erection still firmly planted within Lars' body – Lars simply tightened his arms around Tougou's neck and his legs around Tougou's waist – the night was deepening and all the entire rebel Tekkenshu army was asleep, all except their commander and Lieutenant Tougou – he kissed each scar and whispered between each breath, “You need to let go.”

Rebel Tekkenshu died ever day, each hour harbored another burial for a brother-in-arms, their fates always unsure and on the verge of ending – Lars held all the tighter, grateful that he held his brother-in-arms Tougou's body safely within his body, allowing an affectionate reciprocation thanks to each other for another successful raid on either the Zaibatsu or G Corporation.

“Stay with me like this, Tougou,” he breathed quietly against Tougou's ear, kissing the steady pulse with the same worshipful care he had once given his boss Jin Kazama – all thoughts aside, Lars squeezed down invitingly and asked, “Just a little longer. Please?”

Tougou leaned back from the wall he pinned Lars against and observed his blood-brother – Lars slackened his arms and allowed a little more movement, he watched Tougou's eyes tick and track each scar on his face, always straying back to his gaze between each healed reminder of his battles, the many times he fought the most dire of odds only to come back safe at Tougou's side – their noses touching, Tougou said evenly, inviting no sort of denials or fear to dissuade his meaning, “I love you, Lars.”

“So serious,” Lars smiled, he pressed their foreheads together, his arms tightening once more possessively over Tougou's neck and shoulders, his legs locking against the small of Tougou's back – wrapping himself around Tougou's body was becoming more routine, hindering movement when the pair stole an hour to themselves before sleep, but Lars found the need to remind himself that he was fighting for more then just himself, and Tougou liked being the center of both Lars' attention and the focus of his pleasure.

Lars wasted no words saying what they already both knew, wasted very little action squeezing down on Tougou and physically ask for further movement, he gasped, his voice pushed out as Tougou's hips snapped up, burying his hard cock deeper inside his body, the head brushing him within...

"Tougou-" Lars took one last look in the rearview mirror, the Mishima Zaibatsu's tallest tower shone like a platinum beacon of tyranny, a singular throne without a king and bare of it's most loyal subjects, overwhelmed by the sudden silence, he said to no one in particular as if he were conversing with his desceased Lieutenant, “-It's still too difficult to let go.”


	5. 5th Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Irving/Sergei Dragunov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't plan this. at. all.

The battlefield spread out amidst the barren landscape, what was once a sprawling city now lay a husk of it's former self, a maze of torn concrete walls and drained sewer tunnels which ran occupied networks above ground and below the destroyed city itself, the southeast occupied by the Mishima Zaibatsu, the southwestern lines held by G Corporation and the uppermost northwestern battlefield occupied by Sergei Dragunov's own infantry of a force a thousand men strong were caught amidst enemy lines; the Mishima Zaibatsu and G Corporation dominating the field all the whilst Sergei's men stood at their own borders watching the onslaught – their own commander was nowhere to be found in the immediate vicinity, most likely doing his own reconnaissance rather than allowing an underling to do the footwork.

Where the booms of exploding bombs caused the air to vibrate, Bruce was safely tucked into an alcove in the city's barren substation, he broke apart a ration kit from his side bag and carefully fed a nest of fledgling birds, he dripped miso soup down their awaiting beaks and slid granules of bean paste unto their tongues after – he was far from his own station, deciding that he was better spending his free time on the field rather than sleeping an insecure two hours or losing his rations at cards and board games, even Go-Fish held the same mysteries as japanese Go! and chinese mahjong – and so Bruce decided to keep busy, to stay useful if not for his employer Kazuya Mishima or to continue tracking down the rogue cyborg Bryan Fury, he had nothing to report on either subject.

The constant cheeping silenced after the little birds had gotten their fill, Bruce climbed up a broken scaffold and slid the nest back unto the beam where he found the birds, he brushed their little featherless heads and jumped down where a rifle rested against his spine, in the dusty dimness of the lightless substation, Bruce picked up the sound of breathing: low, even, unafraid, the rhythm of a seasoned soldier.

Bruce knew his own strength, he trusted in himself to fight an entire army if the said army was willing to boil up a nest of songbirds – he trusted his fists to hurt more and strike faster than the standard-issue G Corp burst rifle in his left hand, panic was the last thing on his mind and fear was the furthest, everyone from Japan to Germany knew the Thai Boxing cock-of-the-walk Bruce Irving could take care of his own battles with his own fists – he said evenly, “Your first mistake: showing up. Your second mistake: giving me a reason to kick your ass.”

As if he had said nothing at all, the person behind him simply clicked on the safety and holstered the pistol, possibly allowing Bruce time to acclimate himself to his situation – Bruce picked up his helmet and gear, he left the rest of his MRE tray at the bottom stairwell along with a bottle of water, he turned around, addressing the singular red glint seemingly floating in a sea of darkness, “You better run, soldier boy, while I’m still in a good mood.”

The one standing fifteen paces away was most definitely not his employer Kazuya Mishima, the reason being that the thing... _person_...standing on the opposite side of the substation terminal was wearing boots with a short heel, the minimal squeaks signaled of leather calf-length upper and very light stealth gear, there were only a handful of people and one company in particular whom were in current possession of the stealth gear: Yoshimitsu, Raven agents, Doctor Bosconovitch, and Violet Industries.   
None assuaged by any monetary value to give over their technology, Bruce knew his employer Kazuya Mishima wore boots without the heel, at times a pair of tough leather tabi without an excessive tread pattern at the bottom – the person stepped out from the darkest corner of the substation terminal, a dusty hallway spread behind the soldier's lone form – but who was to say the person was actually _alone?_

From the darkness, Bruce heard a slight buzzing which soon became a cadence of interrupted humming – weaponized air/ground drones, Russian technology – quicker than he could think, Bruce pulled a grenade away from his utility belt and yanked the pin with his teeth, he spat out the metal pin and chuckled, “Didn't expect that, did ya?”

Without a word or preamble, the soldier pulled off the optical scanner headset and lastly the thermal cowl – Sergei reached up, brushing aside a short strand that tickled his brow, the tiniest sneer lifting up the left corner of his full lips – Bruce never paid much attention to the bare skin of his opponents during the past couple of tournaments, but now, being amongst men in full regalia in G Corporation's army...Sergei was looking all too enticing...his grip on the grenade never slackened, his right fist actually tightened on the trigger as the Russian commander approached, he ordered quietly, “Not another step.”

The drones retreated back into the shadows as the air thickened, Bruce swallowed hard as Sergei approached, circling Bruce like a predator and backing away when the american G Corp soldier whipped around to follow his movement, he could hold his own against the most powerful fighters in the Tournament, but squaring up against Sergei was always unexpected, being that the soldier's fighting tactics were so direct and unorthodox, whereas Bruce relied almost primarily on close-combat within two paces and one running stride if his opponent was unlucky – Sergei was able to neutralize most of Bruce's moves, even dodge a direct kick to the gut with a backslide and a powerful standing tackle, like being hit by a battering ram and slugged by mallets.

Bruce was no pushover either, what he lacked in range, he made up in power and variety, each combination of shin-kicks and knee-kicks leading to immobilizing his opponent for a max of four seconds, those precious seconds he used to get in at least six hits before his opponent awoke themselves from the daze – he took pride in being the suave underdog, the pitbull in a turtleshell, and he conditioned himself with the exact brutality as the Navy SEALS – Sergei had the same look being sculpted from the ground up in the wilds of Siberia.

Sergei's eyes looked Bruce over, calculating, analyzing, contemplating Bruce's reaction once they come face to face – his eyes glowed nearly white in the shadows, the nearly colorless white-blue of a clear noon sky, nearly transparent and yet holding a lifetime of secrets, his thin brow arched slightly as Bruce loosened his hold on the grenade trigger, a single low gurgle sounded in the back of Sergei's throat, Bruce realized that Sergei saw him as little threat and _laughed_ in his presence.

Or something _close_ to a laugh if Bruce ever heard one coming from Sergei – the single baritone note sounded nice.

Again, Sergei circled near, catching Bruce's eyes, he would slowly back off within a fluid step, a sudden thundering crash erupted at the very south of the substation terminal, fire erupted, the sound vibrated the air before the sky seemed to split, the concrete walls once strong against the constant onslaught of explosions endured their final blow, the walls and beams holding up the toplevel of the city began collapsing, empty shells of burned vehicles rolled in alongside building walls, their solid mass being sucked into the great tear within the city's center – Bruce quickly grabbed up Sergei by the waist and threw him topside up the stairwell, remembering the nest, Bruce turned around, scrabbling up the sifted scaffold, he grasped the beam and hoisted himself up, the birds twittered frantically, their tiny wings flapped uselessly as he carefully grabbed up their fragile nest and sprinted up the staircase.

The fading daylight was so near, enough that he could feel the feeble warmth upon his skin, his boot caught abruptly on a wide crack caused by the shifting concrete, his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Sergei lunged at him, catching Bruce in a tight chokehold with a knife in one hand, Bruce grasped Sergei's right wrist which wielded the serrated hunting knife, he smirked in the face of the Angel of Death's wordless glare, “At least you didn't hesitate this time.”

Out of the blue, Sergei surged his head forward but halted before he could stun Bruce with a headbutt, he crashed their mouths together, their full lips sharing a single instance of warmth, certainty, and confidence, their eyes open, neither looking away, none daring to close their eyes in the fear that the last thing either would see is the darkness – Bruce's grip faltered, just the tiniest bit of slack given was enough for Sergei to twist his wrist out of Bruce's hands, he stabbed the knife downward, past Bruce's outspread hand, through the dusty air and alas into the concrete crevice, he frantically chipped at the crumbling staircase, not before the substation stairwell completely collapsed.

Night settled around the silent battleground, soldiers called back to their divisions and the wounded collected by whomever was nearest – beneath a mountain of rubble came a muffled twittering – Bruce lifted his helmet off the nest where the tiny fledglings alas settled safely within their abode, Sergei's left arm stayed tightly wrapped around Bruce's right shoulder, the gloved fingers twisted within his military fatigues and ensnared on Bruce's shoulder pack – they both sat unmoving underneath a beam which kept the entire collective slabs from burying them completely.

Low, sensuous, guttural, Sergei's throaty voice emitted heavy syllables weighed down by his Siberian accent, “I don't _ever_ hesitate.”

Bruce's hand snaked down through the concrete granules still littered upon the uneven ground where his boot lay free, he took hold of the hunting knife still grasped in Sergei's right hand, their fingers touched, gloved fingertip to gloved fingertip, the heat from the adrenaline becoming more intense, he hoisted Sergei's thigh from the ground and rested the limb on his own knelt lap – he issued a quiet challenge just as low, gravelly and demanding, “Prove it.”

Sergei's lips parted, his tongue snaked out, sinking into Bruce's awaiting mouth, sucking the delicate wet tip and teeth scraping at full lower lips, they kissed as if every second was their last one alive and each second ticking by was only a prelude to the next to come – on the verge of death only to be kissed back to life, Bruce unknowingly crushed the grenade and rendered it's armed state useless, he dropped the knot of scrap metal the moment he began working on the clasps in Sergei's stealth gear.


	6. 6th Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heihachi Mishima/Feng Wei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm oddly proud of this chapter, it reads more like a historical drama somehow (imo) this chapter might have a conclusion, but i'll leave it up to y'all to decide

Seeing Kazuya always dredged up memories of Kazumi, and so Heihachi made sure that their meetings were brief, their fights even shorter than their meetings, and their words exchanged as venomous enough to make the vilest demons of Hell gag – Heihachi stepped out from his limousine after taking Xiaoyu on a shopping trip and dropping her off at the Mishima Polytechnic School apartment complex, he truly did like spoiling the child as if she were his own daughter, his staff fled his sight but were always near just in case he needed their assistance, but striding past the main pavilion into the Mishima Zaibatsu's lobby, he found the last person he expected to see.

The Kenpo boxer Feng Wei looked as if he had journeyed on foot from Bangkok to Japan without a single break, Feng eased down the heavy brocade hood and scarf as Heihachi approached: he wore his long black queue around his neck to keep the length from swinging wildly, his body enswathed in several layers of various robes and a long leopard skin surcoat to ward off the winter chill, he wore a pair of animal hide boots beneath ever more layers of trousers and quilted undergarments, a single fold bundle tucked beneath his arm.

“Master Heihachi-” one of the security personnel guarding the front entrance approached Heihachi, he pointed out Feng Wei whom stood plainly at the center of the open-sky pavilion, the guard said then in a businesslike manner, “-the fighter. He wouldn't leave and threatened violence if forced.”

“Am I to believe I paid a _secretary_ to do a _guard's_ job?” Heihachi asked, folding his thick arms over his long tiger fur coat and further intimidating the guard, he glanced beneath his thick white brows at first to Feng and then lastly at the guard before adding casually, “You're fired.”

A secretary approached Feng, giving the most terse explanation that an exclusive appointment was needed in order to see the Zaibatsu head – Heihachi gave the slightest shake of his head and narrowing of his eyes, signaling his annoyance of his employee's awful timing and even worse read for prioritizing appointments – the faceless secretary quickly vacated Feng's presence, leaving the chinese fighter to either follow Heihachi or take heed and flee the premises.

Feng swallowed down a thick breath through his nose and yet still felt deprived of air, the cold air's sting down his throat still did not distract him from the lightness present in his chest, he tread after in his padded hide boots, barely scuffing the fine marble and quartz floor tiles as he went along after Heihachi, though his body always burned like a furnace, he felt himself melting on the inside, his heart becoming a sodden puddle held in place by his ribcage and cradled in the center of his lungs – these feelings, these foreign sensations, each was the result of Heihachi, whether it was a simple thought or even the Zaibatsu head's presence.

Conflicting, maddening...intoxicating...Feng recalled his defeat during the fifth Tournament, how Heihachi tossed the fabled Dragon Scrolls at his face-down body, the bundle of heavy brocade and gold falling near his face as if the secret martial arts meant nothing at all, Feng glanced up at Heihachi, his narrowed eyes asking a thousand questions and Heihachi's explanation only harboring a thousand more, “Get stronger. Learn your God Fist and I'll be waiting at the next tournament.”

Shame and curiosity battled for the supreme upper hand when Feng came to his seclusion at long last after it was told that Jin Kazama had won the Tournament – he sat quietly at the epicenter of the Dragon's Nest, a private area not open to the public, days without food, without the reprieve of water or sleep, Feng simply stared at the bundle of brocade, a decorative knot half-undone at the center weakly holding upon its secrets. Were the scrolls a fake? Were they a trap? Were they meant to bring a rise out of him? Was it's ultimate purpose to unsettle Fengs mind? Pollute his thinking and impair his judgement? If so, to what purpose?

Yin won the battle against Yang, and so he hoped that there was even the slightest good in the personal dishonor he committed – Feng pulled the knot upon the scroll and all its secrets revealed were the genuine fabled God Fist forms, he learned each form with the utmost diligence, almost to the point of madness – the sixth Tournament yielded how true his power had become, growing leaps and bounds each day as if the secrets of the God Fist was performing even after he had learned the ancient technique, and slowly, unconsciously, Feng began to understand the Dragon Scrolls' true purpose.

Alas brought to a private quarter used for entertaining important guests and lavish dinner parties, one of Heihachi's personal attendants quietly pushed the sliding doors closed and padded away, Feng ignored the golden statues of japanese 'celestial beings', nude women gilded in gold and their bodies covered in the sheerest silks, he instead strode toward the open screen doorway which led to a snow-covered garden and dormant iced pond, all sounds from the city were muted and like a distant memory where he stepped into an elaborate painting, he turned around and bowed once to Heihachi, deeply the second time, he knelt and touched his forehead to the ground in complete supplication-like submission.

“Honored Master Heihachi,” Feng said quietly, for even his own voice sounded strange being that he had not spoken words in decades – he spoke lower to hide the embarrassingly uneven tones and inflections in his voice, “I come with intentions.”

He kept his head bowed, not daring to move a muscle lest Heihachi took his submission as something more than respectful compliance – Heihachi's fine leather shoes paced within his limited eyesight, the solid wooden flooring not once squeaking, the hollow thud of footfalls on the tatami mats foretold of Heihachi's location, he stayed silent at length, wondering if he was invisible.

“So what did you think would happen?” Heihachi asked, his voice holding the same mocking tone as arrogant and certain as ever, “I'd accept you as my _son_? Already, my family tree going back five generations is full of cutthroats, rogues and murderers.”

Conflicts within the Mishima bloodline were all too public knowledge, scholars and theologists debated endlessly on the subject, journalists and private investigators even contributed their own pieces to the most respected media outlets – Heihachi made sure to use his massive influence in battling against media-driven investigators, but Feng knew as much as the world understood of the Mishima family – Feng was in the slightest envious that Heihachi _had_ a family, even if it was one that fought their own to the death.

“My own sons aspire to dethrone me one day. To rewrite the history of the Mishima Zaibatsu in their own image,” Heihachi spoke as if to a naughty school child, Feng listened respectfully, his body rising from the floor in order to see his host better, “My grandson, my only living protege-”

A small shadow passed over Heihachi's eyes, just the split-second that Feng's own sharp eyes caught, then the expression melted into something sinister, both placid and cold, as if peace was already made with Jin Kazama's ultimate tragedy – Feng could neither sympathize nor comfort, he lacked the personal experience of loss.

“The Devil afflicts us all,” Heihachi's words gave little away if he had personal tenderness toward his grandson, “None escapes his ultimate wrath. We've tried.”

“We've all fought our fates, and ultimately, unavoidably, failed,” Feng listened to Heihachi's tale with a preexisting interest which only grew with each spoken word, “The evil in our line writes the words of our life with the blood of our loved ones. No man as powerful even as I can rewrite their own fate.”

The omnipresent swimming ache in Feng's chest grew tenfold, he ignored the feeling, but just as quickly nearly doubled over from the sensation with a vengeance:

“Stray even slightly-” Heihachi seemed lost in his own world, one built of pain and betrayal, “-and the cost is _dear_.”

“Despite all that, in light of everything revealed-” Feng spoke carefully after he had digested the personal story, he gathered all his courage and prayed that he would be looked upon kindly if not foolishly for his next course of action – he stood and unraveled his queue from around his neck, he removed the plain cord at the end of his plaited queue and separated the orderly plaits all the while explaining, “-a man needs not to look over his own shoulder to find heaven.”

Feng held his breath then, waiting to be turned away or allowed tolerance – Heihachi looked on, just in the slightest speculative – Feng pulled away the heavy brocade hood as a further hint.

Heihachi gave no word or action to stop Feng as he reached into his bundle and produced a ceramic jar which sloshed it's honeyed nectar, the wine was expensive and took very much patience to lug thousands of miles in the miniscule hopes of personally serving it as a gift, the legendary Golden Dragon wine was said to be of divine origins, Feng simply thought the gift fitting for a man whom possessed the will and strength of gods, Heihachi looked at him suspiciously, obviously questioning both the quality and the safety of drinking a strange spirit.

Feng brought the jug's rim an inch shy above his mouth and took five modest swallows, a different strange warmth spread throughout his body, first embracing his muscles and lastly dulling the voice in his head to a jumbled whisper – once proving the safeness of the drink, Feng nearly toppled as he said, “If you won't have my wine as a sign of goodwill, then take what little wisdom I possess-”

“You have until the wine jug is empty,” Heihachi grabbed the sizable jug from Feng's hands and took a mighty swallow, he let out a satisfied sigh and demanded, “Begin.”

The wine proved itself stronger than rice liquor indeed, Feng had trouble ordering his thoughts being that he was also a very light drinker, the fumes belched from the weakest wine usually incited the beginnings of a swoon – he began his somber story, “Unfortunate men of my background are the byproduct of systematic rape and pillaging after conquering rival villages and cities long since before the time Gods walked amongst men.”

In so far, Heihachi seemed taken with the wine and drank like a thirsty fish – Feng quickly regained his focus though his words came at a slower pace, “My line and my ancestors go back as far as the Tang Dynasty, the Emperor's perfect assassins and personal bodyguards, at the rarest times my kind are bred of the third sex and made his personal male concubines.”

Feng recalled his master's apprentice reiterating the 'Tale of the Seven Forbidden Chrysanthemums', a story of seven accomplished young warriors whom fought against hostile conquerors and invaders all in the name of their Emperor, once the Emperor caught wind of the seven young martial arts masters in his ranks, he called them forth to congratulate each of their victories but was entranced by their beauty before he ever got a single word out, thus, the Emperor moved his wives out of the palace and instead allowed the young men to serve as his personal bodyguards, one of the young warriors grew to love the Emperor very much and the first wife caught wind of the gossip, she then staged a rape which resulted in the birth of a bastard, she quickly placed blame on the enamored young warrior while the Emperor's temper was still hot, the young warrior was executed while the remaining six were castrated, only until decades later when the bastard ascended the throne did the truth come to light: the Emperor's body was found bloodied and maimed, a short cryptic poem scratched into the stone with his bare hands left a lasting impression – 'Refrain touching the flower's budding petal, resist the flower's beguiling scent, resist the flower's enchanting dance, the flower that gives seed is revered, the flower that dies in spring is forbidden, resist the call of the Seven Forbidden Flowers.'

“No such fate was brought unto me. I'm ashamed of how much I pity myself for that one legacy I may never have,” Feng said, he knew all too well that his looks evoked fear and hostility, the exact qualities a eunuch should _not_  possess if they were to be objects of affection and adoration, Feng harbored the shameful longing if given the chance, he would gladly give up his manhood just to be held once, “I’ve never known the love of a parent, Master Heihachi. Only the teaching of my master...it is perhaps the closest thing I have to a father's love.”

Feng did not expect to bear himself so readily, he awaited angry judgmental words which never came, he kept his eye lowered on the floor and his tone even:

“Maybe there is such thing: healing and creation from destruction and violence,” Feng believed his own logic, for after the fabled Emperor's death, the six remaining 'Forbidden Chrysanthemums' went on to become highly respected public officials and grand masters of their own right, “Maybe it is all a beautiful dream, a colorful myth to entice those weak of heart...”

Incredulously, Heihachi let out a hearty guffaw, slapping his knee and throwing his head back in order to let his laugh rumble out his throat smoothly – Feng's cheeks reddened to a darker hue, he glanced up just then and flushed deeper as their eyes met.

“So that's your selfish promise?” Heihachi asked, half letdown and half inquisitive still perhaps curious of how far Feng would go shaming himself before Heihachi took pity, “A fairytale _Heaven_? Either to _take_ me there or _leave_ me there?”

“To _lead_ you,” Feng answered, his voice gaining it's former strength the more his emotions were pressed upon – he stripped off his leopard skin surcoat, allowing the heavy skin to fall where he knelt, “Whether you wish to stay in paradise is _your_ choice...”

Heihachi's pacing and chuckling halted almost immidiately, weighing his options and the offer Feng placed thrust upon him so gracelessly – they stared at one another, wondering if the other was bluffing or if the other held ulterior motives.

“One night is all I ask, Heihachi,” Feng said after, allowing the slightest amount of hope in his heart as Heihachi continued to stare down at his knelt form, “Use me, maim me, embrace me, discard me – my vow of lifelong celibacy is tested each time I see you.”

“An interesting proposal,” Heihachi strode around Feng's knelt body, the strong wine seemingly ineffective though Feng did not intend the wine to be finished within a single sitting – Heihachi spoke resolutely, “It can't be honored. You see, all men are the same to me: vile, treacherous dogs whom pounce on opportunity.”

Feng could not suppress a shiver as Heihachi swept his long black hair away and fingered the muscular dip along the center of his spine, he held in a breath when the gentle fingers tightened at the back of his neck and forced him to look up into Heihachi's burning eyes.

“How can _you_ be any different?” Heihachi asked, his eyes sliding over Feng's covered body with nothing but contempt and offense, “An unlearned lover without a single wile. No breasts to linger upon, no hips to latch unto, eyes too sharp to delve into, a mouth too hard and hairy to sup sweetness from.”

Though Feng was hairless everywhere but where it counted, he took no immediate offense to Heihachi's observance and instead hung his head for all the other qualities he blatantly lacked – still, Heihachi continued to smash his self-worth down even lower, “And you offer me a grass stem instead of the lover's secret flower. Why would anyone touch a _man_ _'s root_ if offered a _garden_ of women?”

Truly, a man as powerful and appealing was sure to have many admirers, Feng envied Lee's effortless dancer's build now more than ever, and yet he understood the power growing within him would not allow his body to lose more muscle than necessary – Feng answered for his flaws, “I've neglected to make my body as attractive as possible, its a truth I won't deny.”

“The scrolls, it was not simply a how-to novel,” Feng explained another truth he had come to realize, “It posed many questions as I delved into the technique...”

Heihachi was suddenly swigging the wine with renewed interest, Feng spoke quickly knowing that he was quickly running out of time, “The forms are straightforward, lacking fluid movement and yet are full of purpose and promise. The shield and spear techniques are simply for destruction...”

Heihachi pulled away from the wine jug and stilled, possibly waiting for the wine's sweet burn to subside.

“But the soft fist...” Feng said, he unclenched his fists and extended his long uncharacteristically graceful fingers, he rose unto his shaky legs, “...is for creation. Healing. Protection.”

“Don't you notice, Master Heihachi, that if I were to fight with an open palm-” Feng snapped into battle stance in the blink of an eye, but melted into a seemingly other technique by simply opening his palm and relaxing his fingers, his entire body followed suit: the tightness in his shoulders became less rigid and dropped a slight degree, his arms took on a loose appearance, he relaxed his hips and knees until his stance slightly resembled a cross between Xiaoyu's handwork and Leo's less rigid leg stance – he demonstrated a few nonthreatening moves which were deadly if sped up and powered correctly, Feng ended the short demonstration with his open palm an inch from cradling Heihachi's cheek, he asked quietly, “-my harsh technique would seem like a lover's caress?”

“You wish to 'recreate' me. Is that it?” Heihachi asked gruffly, though mildly impressed, he saw little temptation bedding a partner whom made Xiaoyu's fighting technique appear manly, all superficial opinions aside, he could hardly deny that he was even the least attracted to a man whom appealed such a compelling case on his own behalf, especially a man whom conquered mountains with his bare fists and allowed _him_ , Heihachi Mishima, a _man_ into the impregnable fortress that was his heart, “To 'heal' me and 'protect' me?”

Feng's eyes widened as Heihachi caught his stray hand and pulled his offending limb away, and yet, his hand was never freed – Feng's expression softened further, revealing a face beautiful enough to fell kingdoms and incite lust in the Gods, a face fit for even the most virtuous Emperor.

“If you would permit me, Master Heihachi,” Feng's tone dipped mostly out of caution, as if speaking in a more quiet tone would lessen the impact if he was overstepping his bounds, he held unto Heihachi's eyes with his own and hoped for the best turnout, “I would gladly fulfill any role you wish of my talents.”

To Feng's complete dismay, Heihachi tipped over the jug until it echoed emptily against his lips, he gave a single sigh before dropping the jug unto the floor – Feng felt his heart drop with the same emptiness.

“Very well,” Feng nodded quietly at Heihachi – he turned on his heel and reached behind, he gathered up his hair and said with little fuss, “I will take my leave as I’ve earlier agreed.”

Feng gathered up all his hair and was about to tie just as an arm wrapped around his body, expecting a back throw, he tensed – Heihachi reached a gloved right hand beneath his chin and tilted his face upward.

“I have one condition-” Heihachi said, reveling in the helpless expression Feng tried hiding, his moustache twitched at the thought which disgusted him throughout their entire exchange, “-Don't sacrifice your manhood for my sake.”

Heihachi's own young warrior nearly collapsed from relief and so he held his 'Forbidden Chrysanthemum' tighter against his body, silently vowing to himself that he would not make the same foolish mistake as the legendary Emperor.


	7. 7th Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King/Craig Marduk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i imagine that this couple laughs & does cracky shit (no pun intended)  
> separated this chapter into 2 because the next part takes place past midnight (+ it has an "epilogue" of sorts)

In the ring he was King, the 'Beast of Fury', the 'Flying Mexican Lariat' – on the outside world beyond the steel cage and ropes, he was simply the lesser known wrestling coach and orphanage maintenance worker with a common name, an unextraordinary household and an equally normal domestic life along with his husband Craig Marduk, the famous Austrailian 'Thunder from Down Under' – crowds knew his mask and stage name, Marduk knew him simply as 'Reyes'.

Marduk was able to see King without the mask directly after the fifth Tournament years ago and his life changed instantly: shortly after his elimination from the tournament roster by King himself, Marduk threw a fit in the locker room which then spilled out into the arena lobby where some innocent bystanders were injured, out from seemingly nowhere, he was caught in a headlock, he hissed and snarled, he bucked and twisted at the arms in the hopes of twisting himself free, to see the perpetrator he looked behind – his eyes, they were the lightest shade of hazel and before Marduk knew it, he was trapped and tamed by an anonymous doozie from King's entourage.

Unlike Reyes' legacy and deceased progenitor to the King persona, Reyes' looks heavily favored the 'Gringo' side of the genetic spectrum and part 'Chicano': his face was angular, sculpted and strong in the jaw, pouting lips that prelude lingering kisses, deepset eyes overshadowed by dark brows, his fauxhawk was black and shortened into a military-like minimalist style – Marduk fell for the handsome man in a simple mechanic's jumpsuit after much stalling and hesitation on his own part.

Suddenly, Marduk recalled each Tournament loss with fondness every glance he shared with his husband, and though Reyes' full name was written on their marriage license he smiled every time Marduk offered a new guess each day, “Castillo.”

Always enigmatic though they were married for the past two years since the end of the fourth King of Iron Fist tournament, Reyes simply shook his head and answered, “Nope.”

The husbands sat in a semicircle in the orphanage's playroom, their two bodies dressed in matching fitted t-shirts and tired jogging sweats, espresso shots littered the overstuffed tabletop they sat next to, surrounded by shopping bags, empty stockings, presents, and wrapping paper – various toys peeked out from the sloppy corners that Marduk hastily taped together, Reyes simply wrapped them up in tidy bows and sprinkled the sad presents with tinsel before setting them in the 'done pile', once in a while catching each other glancing up, Marduk would lick his lips or ask what Reyes was staring at, Reyes would smile or answer 'At a sexy freak with a heart of gold', leaving the pair laughing at themselves.

The two at first planned to show up at the orphanage in their full WNW gear and spending the entire day with the children that they grew to love like their own, but at the last minute were invited to the Mishima Zaibatsu's annual sponsored fighter's exhibition, Reyes decided that they should go in order to meet their fans and hype up their next WNW tour before the seventh Tournament's announcement was made official for the starter's roster — and the children adored the orphanage's famous chief benefactor King, they never suspected the ordinary ringside attendant Reyes in Marduk's corner was in fact the WNW tag champion King.

No matter what since their tag debut after the fifth Tournament, Reyes and Craig were always busy: if they were not on tour wrestling, they were either making various public appearances or training for their next match, which left the pair a few days out of the month to visit King's orphanage. In such rare moments with the children, Reyes and Craig made the time spent as memorable as possible, every holiday carefully planned and yet left with room for spontaneity, the same for an upcoming third anniversary that both were looking forward to like an ordinary couple, except normal couples never needed sex swing gear to climb a mountain of muscle for a series of spine-shattering orgasms. Plenty of morning after complaints came with the territory.

“One of these days, baby-” Marduk sneered, looking up from one of the presents he was wrapping, a wicked glint twinkled in his dark eyes, “-I'm gonna get you.”

“You had me since the first round,” Reyes answered, they chuckled as a present came flying at his head.

A silence overcame them, Reyes glanced up from the bow he had just tied and met Marduk's eyes, he saw that same look plenty of times and the appearance of Marduk's expression was becoming more and more frequent – a palpable sorrow brought on by the fact that the first King never told Reyes of his own past, he stood by while Marduk hired private investigator one after another in the hopes of finding new information.

“Why's it driving you so crazy? Remember I have _your_ last name, Craig?” Reyes asked, he put the present in the 'done pile', he gulped down the last of his cold espresso shot and gave a playful wink over the tiny cup's ceramic rim, the fingers of his left hand visible as his silver wedding band caught the light, “I'm 'Marduk', _your_ _Reyes_ _Craig_ _Marduk_ , and lets leave it at that.”

Caught off guard by Reyes' personal observation, Marduk gaped at his handsome husband all the while thinking 'the world has billions of people and _he got down on one knee for me_!' being that after days of dating, it was Reyes who proposed days after the fifth Tournament - reassured, Marduk rubbed his own head and smirked quietly, “All this hair is gone because I’m still stressing over your past.”

Once upon a time, years before Reyes and Craig met, Marduk was pretty much a cocky self-assured 'Casanova from Down Under', women did not always fall at his feet but he gave them a twelve-inch reason to come back for seconds and fifths, however much they could handle before calling quits for their own _health reasons_...until he met Reyes without the King jaguar mask – sure nearly all the men that participated in the King of Iron Fist Tournaments were _usually_ their own kind of handsome (the Mishimas', Feng, Sergei and company), some were obscenely beautiful (Lee Chaolan, Hwoarang, Claudio, the Laws'), others unclassified were fuckable and cute (Leo and Bob), Reyes was a living sex God along the lines of classical clean-cut appeal – never did Marduk ever feel so unprepared and turned on during a chokehold...maybe once, but being manhandled by Nina Williams always had that certain effect on everyone except Steve Fox. No one yet knows why.

“And I love you either way,” Reyes' tongue caressed the word ' _love_ ' and drew out the syllable before breathily adding ' _you_ ', Marduk groaned deep in his throat as his husband stood from the floor and pulled on his red house robe, he leaned down over Marduk's seated form and playfully licked his lip, adding softly, “My spartan grizzly.”

“My pet jaguar,” Marduk said plainly and missing the smooth finesse Reyes always spoke with, Reyes adored his husband all the more for speaking so directly like he was trying to hold back the intensity of his own emotions, Marduk cringed as he leaned to the side and jarred the sore spot in his left shoulder, he asked, “Wanna take a break? My back's killing me.”

A self-satisfied smirk showcased Reyes' dimples, his light hazel eyes glinted in the light, Marduk simply stood up and nipped his ear, Reyes followed after into the kitchen and chuckled about the memory of their previous evening, “I _know_ you liked it, Craig.”

Marduk put the espresso machine on, a shiver ran down his spine when Reyes laid his arms atop his own and nuzzled up against his shoulderblades, Reyes purred mostly out of habit as a wordless, “I'm sorry, baby. I was wrong, I was bad, but I love you. You forgive me, right?”

“Yeah,” Marduk turned his palms up and laced his larger fingers with Reyes', he looked over his shoulder at Reyes' mischievous little dimples showing at the corners of his mouth, he asked, “But did you have to _enjoy_ it?”

The previous night, Reyes and Marduk trained and sparred for nearly four hours before heading back to their hotel, they had their lean proteins and vegetables over candlelight at the hotel's private terrace, a session of deep-tissue massage back in their room after dinner, everything was routine before Marduk opened his big mouth and asked, “Wanna fuck?”

Instead of a lopsided smile, an unhurried kiss and a lighthearted 'How about a power nap?' which usually ended up becoming a full night's sleep, Reyes whipped out their swing setup from home and casually opened the buckles – Marduk followed, thinking he was ready to give a personal deep tissue massage, Reyes pushed him unto the straps, Marduk lay midair wondering 'Holy shit! It actually held _me_?' and Reyes just then tore off their clothing as best he could, he latched a toothy kiss near Marduk's ear and purred, “I'd love to.”

“I see that. I see what's going on, Reyes,” Marduk gasped – Reyes thrust forward, his cock sliding down and into Marduk's body as he instinctively tightened for only a second before loosening completely, they both let out a shuddered breath, Reyes purring and Marduk grumbling out a laugh while giving a few test squeezes inside his body, “You got jokes, huh, _kitty cat_?”

There was a delicate balance between themselves: Marduk was a solid twelve inches uncut and thickest in the middle, Reyes was a comfortable nine and thick at the base, they switched whenever the mood struck but Reyes completely enjoyed Marduk's attentions and worshipful care, and so he preferred to receive, and yet, when the emotions at the hour was just right, he suddenly became the 'champion luchadore cocksmith' (another shared private joke) – Reyes shuddered atop Marduk's prone body, his palms gripping the hefty thighs wide and up, he gulped quietly, “The cheesiest jokes you've ever heard.”

“Liar, liar-” Marduk said, giving a hard squeeze on Reyes' embedded cock, he watched his husband wince, each muscle and vein in his chest and arms visible to the naked eye, he knew Reyes holding back a tide and losing in the process, “-tell me a good one.”

A few deep breaths later, Reyes spoke, his voice strained and his eyes swimming, “There's a kid-!”

Marduk squeezed his inner muscles starting at his ribcage, his sinew inside compacted one area at a time, his midsection next where he knew from the sensation alone that he met a blunt resistance, his muscles gripped around Reyes' cockhead – Reyes choked out the words of his joke, “The kid's in trouble with his parents for a fight he started at school. His papa asks, 'You kicked his ass, son?'”

Marduk's inner muscles rippled all the way to the sphincter, over and over, sucking Reyes in, coaxing Reyes' cock inward, his voice shaky and husky, Reyes continued, “Kid says, 'Yeah, he calls me names. He called me a fag, daddy'.”

“'That's my boy,' says papa,” Reyes snapped his hips forward, jarring the swing and catching Marduk mid-squeeze, catching Marduk right on the most sensitive area as it enclosed around him – he fought to remember the words before going straight for the punchline, “'Don't let anyone talk shit to you,' the papa says.”

Though the sensations were overwhelming, Reyes fought to keep a steady pace, slowly thrusting in before snapping his hips back, fighting the tight suction Marduk's ass grips on his dick, popping the head out before feeding the clenching ass back his cock – Marduk let out a groaned hiss, “Uh-huh-!”

Marduk's body tasted every single bulging vein, each pulse of blood that beat inside his very core, the humid air flavored by their combined sweat and musk, he almost came the moment Reyes caught him in a bearhug and mashed their lips together, there was no finesse, just sloppy tongue and teeth, the occasional accidental bite from a stray canine tooth or the accidental tickle as one of their tongues licked the roof of another's mouth, causing a burst of laughter they both shared – Marduk whispered over and over against his husband's lips, “I love ya. I fuckin _love ya_! Gimme all that hot leopard dick!”

They chuckle all the while their lips are on one another, saliva leaking out from the sides of their smiling lips – some of the random things they said to one another was only sexy for the fact that it was said during sex, not after or before when it would be considered outright weird or awkward, Reyes' fingers tightened around Marduk's thighs, locking his husband into a folded position, he slammed in, savoring each tight flutter erupting around his cock as he nuzzled up against Marduk's prostate, his abdomen crushing against Marduk's cock with each dragging movement, his cock twitched at Marduk's growl and the sensation of the hot vise squeezing at longer intervals around him, “Giddyap, cowboy.”

“'If he says anything else, punch all his teeth down his throat,' the papa says,” Reyes hissed atop Marduk's collarbone, his eyes met his husband's he gasped as Marduk nipped his ear, “Close!”

Reyes thrusts in, feeling himself reach in deeper and breaking a new threshold from his shallow rhythm, and Marduk clutches him, _squeezes_ all his inner muscles into a slick coiled vise and never lets up as Reyes becomes lightheaded from all the pressure building in his balls, his body bows forward and his fingers dig into Marduk's thighs – Marduk's entire body seizes, he clamps down tight on his husband's swollen cock, before Marduk can catch his breath and hold off orgasm, his husband grinds himself deep within his core, nuzzling the hot walls with the blunt tip of his cock and rubbing hard on the bundle of nerves beneath his navel.

Reyes lets go of Marduk' thighs and his shaky hands grabbing both sides of Marduk's face, his lips part and his tongue slips past the panting lips – Reyes' glassy hazel-green eyes is Marduk's undoing, helpless against his husband's loving expression brought through their fucking, his body winds tight as he groans into their kiss, sensation climbs up legs, lighting a fire through every nerve and just as suddenly, thick milky spurts pulse out of his dick between the interlocked crevice between his own hairy abdomen and Reyes' smooth chest – Reyes growls, his cock erupting opaque ropes of cum inside Marduk's fluttering ass, wave after wave until his balls rest tight and empty drawn up tight below his spent cock.

“Hey, baby,” Marduk chuckles between kisses, his lips trailing lazily around Reyes' sweaty hairline, around his flushed ears, over his reddened cheeks and lastly unto his open lips, “Kinda left me with a hellova cliffhanger there, and?”

“The boy says -” Reyes parts from Marduk briefly – he stares beneath his fluttering eyelashes and reiterates sleepily, “-'Aw, but, daddy, do I have to? He was really cute'.”

Marduk let out a lazy murmured chuckle of what would have been a loud jackass laugh if he was not so fucked out of his misery, his lower body clenches around Reyes once he senses movement, feeling the shallow thrusts in his sloppy ass, Marduk catches Reyes' desperate expression half wanting sleep and half invested for a second round, Marduk obliges with a quick peck, his cock hardens in the cooled slickness of his cum between his abs and Reyes' muscled chest – he growls possessively into Reyes' kiss-swollen lips, “What's with that face?”

The thought of sleep was then forgotten.


	8. 8th Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King/Marduk or Marduk/King????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can tell i'm under the influence of cra!ck comedy from the 90's, my bad

After midnight...

The espresso machine puttered peacefully, all the while Marduk pressed his back into Reyes' embrace, his clothed ass crack accommodating Reyes' thickening erection, whether he was ignoring it or was too caught up softly brushing his lips over the skin behind Marduk's head, they stood over the espresso machine, the tiredness whisked away by the scent of fresh coffee, Marduk's cock already pressed the comfortable cotton of his sweatpants, they were pretty much in a place as private as a house full of sleeping children could provide, but the thought of Reyes' desperate expression was all the coaxing he needed.

“You don't see me complaining after getting fucked minutes before a match,” Reyes mumbled – once hearing the hint of a smile and just a bit of teasing, Marduk whipped his husband around straight into the kitchenette's solid ledge, his hands planted behind Reyes' hips to keep the ledge from biting in to his hips.

“Doesn't it give you a wicked rush, Reyes?” Marduk asked, he kept his husky voice as quiet as he could, he reached between their hips, his finger swiping Reyes' glistening cock for precum, stripping off Reyes' sweatpants and fluffy house slippers, he hiked up Reyes' muscled legs over his shoulders – Reyes never once complained, he tweaked one of his nipples and clasped Marduk's thick cock between his ass cheeks where cum bubbled out and left a sticky reminder of hours before, “Holding in my load, pinching up your asshole hard to keep our little secret?”

Months ago, they were billed on the WNW pay per view roster to defend their Tag Team Championship Titles, and the mood struck just fifteen minutes before their match was scheduled – Reyes was spread over the locker room bench on his back, his t-shirt pushed up to his collarbone, his boxers hanging off one leg and his jeans missing, his upper spine being the only thing touching the bench being that his lower body was held up high to Marduk's height, his right leg bent close to his upper torso and Marduk's palm gripped between the juncture of his thigh and hip, his left leg wrapped securely around Marduk's hip, the crowd's chants intensified over their head in the arena, Reyes' left hand clutched to his panting mouth to muffle his own shouts and his right hand hooked behind Marduk's left knee, Marduk stood over the bench, knees bent, thrusting away and groaning.

They finished several times, Marduk ducking into a cold shower before his arousal caught a second wind, Reyes shimmying into his tights and gear while one of their entourage stood guard at the door – during the match, Reyes could feel every movement within his body, seeing the hundreds of eyes from the live audience and the millions at home during the live broadcast, Reyes squeezed his sphincter all the tighter before the warm semen had the chance to leak out, he felt his ass cheeks sliding against each other from even the slightest twitch of his thigh, the sticky warmth swishing around inside his body and sloshing around his core, his skin tingled each time Marduk tagged him in or even gave a knowing passing glance, participating in a double team super suplex made Reyes' balls draw up tight and caused his dick to twitch inside his tights – they won the match just as another one-on-one came to conclusion in their hotel room shower.

“Shut up,” Reyes whispered, his body shuddering as Marduk eased a finger into his ass, the thick knuckles stretching his entrance and fingertips pressing on his prostate, his voice cut off by Marduk's tongue, “We'll get caught-”

“Shut it for me, baby-” Marduk said, thrusting his long tongue past Reyes' suckling lips, into the slippery cup of Reyes' saliva-soaked tongue – he parted with a loud pop, drops of saliva winding down Reyes' chin, he was struck by his husband's swollen lips and hooded eyes staring at him so lovingly, “-or make me talk shit for a _better_ _reason_.”

“Your mouth pisses me off, Craig,” Reyes laughed quietly, his dimples deepening and his mouth opening to accept Marduk's tongue – his sphincter left lewd gummy 'kisses' along the underside of Marduk's cock which rubbed against his tailbone, semen landed on the floor with a resounding splat the more Reyes bucked against Marduk, he confessed softly, “I don't know if I should _punch_ it or _kiss_ it.”

“Why not fuck it?” Marduk asked, mischief glowing in his dark eyes – Reyes endured the slow nips and mouthy kisses trailing down his chest, Marduk's teeth scraping his abdomen, tongue flicking into his navel, hot breath over the moist tip and he was already dizzy, “Quickest way to have it both ways.”

Both coming from straight open relationships, neither yet understood how to suppress their gag-reflexes while deepthroating, the only thing they learned from gay porn was positions and erotic frottage (hours later during their first date at an adult video booth, both were thinking: 'I don't get it. You facefuck like _how_ again?' Reyes then said, “I don't know nothin about that magical blowjob voodoo, but I’m not _dying_ or committing _murder_ tonight.” Lee Chaolan showed up at their rented cubicle booth like a sneering fairy god-daddy to spread the gospel of the 'Last True Romantic Unicorn'. They quickly discovered their love of semen and their mutual hate for sharing. Namely with someone who had more experience with both sexes.), everything else was hit-and-miss and accidental discoveries, like the fact that they hated cockrings and cock-ball-torture, but they made do with vanilla bondage and both could give nude deep-tissue massages – despite all their previous drawbacks, their experiences choking never once stopped either one attempting a tangled 69.

Marduk's hot mouth engulfed him, the thick tongue caressing his length, the base and lower half of his cock held in Marduk's slippery left hand, his head rolled unto one shoulder, Reyes gripped Marduk's red robe, his hands fighting his body's instinct to pull Marduk closer, to bury himself deep down his husband's throat, to feel Marduk's windpipe kiss his leaking cockhead – the temptation being too much, Reyes pushed Marduk away, every nerve in his dick twinging from the abrupt pull in the middle of a hard suck, he admitted begrudgingly, “We know you want something else, baby.”

Before he could attempt raping Marduk's throat, Reyes pulled his burly body up against his own, pushing out as much of Marduk's seed from inside of his ass as he could, his hands shook while slicking up the erection throbbing away between his ass cheeks – Reyes took a deep breath and pressed the cock to his dripping sphincter, he whispered softly in his smooth South American accent, “While the kids're asleep.”

Marduk thrust in just a second too early before he relaxed his lower body completely, tearing a hissed ' _aye, papi! conjo! Gentle!_ ' from Reyes, which Marduk answered between apologetic licks atop his left ear ' _my bad. you're too fucking sexy_ ', Reyes' inner muscles slowly unclenched, the glacial pace was enough to remind Marduk that Reyes was in pain but endured for the sake of their intimacy, Marduk realized that he would have to learn how to deepthroat like a porn star if he was ever to make it up to Reyes – finally back from the borderline blackout, Reyes smiled, “Your rocket might take out my legs one of these days.”

“Wanna stop the good thing we got going?” Marduk asked, Reyes spread his legs, his hole opening wider as an invitation, he rested both of his thighs atop Marduk's elbows, taking Marduk's tense fists from the kitchenette ledge, he placed each paw-like palm on his hips and answered quietly ' _just go slow._ _ok?_ '

Between the deep slow thrusts and gentle open-mouth kisses, cum oozed out from Reyes' cock and coated his right fist still clenched over his pulsing cock, hot ice ran through his veins and fed every nerve, his nipples emanated a sharp heat as his sweat ran down his chest, the kiss bruises littered around his neck gave off dull sparks beneath his skin, every languid bump of Marduk's abdomen against his oversensitized cock forced shudders all throughout his body, ending at his pouting reddened asshole – his body hitched up atop the counter, Marduk grinded himself in, pushing through the sopped velvet walls and easing past the bundle of nerves, pulling out just as deliberately, Reyes' core fluttered, grasping tight heat and milliseconds between simply churning around Marduk's thick cock.

' _Prostate Milking_. An act only a true connoisseur of anal pleasure can appreciate. Truly _Excellent_.' tidbits of Lee Chaolan's excessively-flourished lessons echoed at the back of his mind, Reyes controlled his shallow breathing and endured the painfully slow rhythm Marduk was restricted to, his legs shook and his feet clenched as orgasm smoldered in his core, hot pinpricks danced within his skin, concentrated on his engorged cock and in his swollen entrance – taking pity on Marduk's restrained movements (and the fact that he was too aroused to feel residual pain), Reyes said simply, “Fuck me, Craig.”

With cum already coating Reyes from the inside, a thin trace leaked out and congealed in thick white globs on Marduk's cock, he burst forward with renewed energy, his sacs heavy and his rigid cock already leaking precum, he rammed in all fourteen inches of uncut hardness straight up Reyes' sopping ass, the obscene sounds of wet skin slapping against muscle reached a sharp pitch almost instantly, Marduk slid his tongue into Reyes' open mouth, drowning out as much of his husband's gasping moans as he could, feeling a little sorry that he could not hear Reyes' full purring (human-like in the beginning, cat-like in the middle, jaguar-ish during climax. Most of the time) moans.

Then came the unforgiving squeeze, Reyes felt his body lock even as he bit off his shout, “Craig-!”

“I know. Me, too, baby. Almost-” Marduk inhaled Reyes' answering moan, muffling the hissed exhales with his tongue shoved in Reyes' mouth, his lips sealed over his husband's bruised lips to take the edge off their sounds – below their joined mouths, Reyes rolled and pinched their nipples, one hand on his own, the other on Marduk, alternating between rolling the stiff fleshy peaks hard between his fingers and gently tugging and rubbing circles atop the sensitive nubs, Marduk pulled away abruptly, leaving his mouth vacant and empty, hot breath blew over his cheeks, “I'm gonna die if you don't cum _right the fuck now_.”

Caught between laughing and melting, Reyes crushed himself closer into his husband's chest, he peered down at Marduk and nearly swallowed his tongue, seeing Marduk's eyes glazed over and lost, his mouth hanging open in a grimace and the veins in his neck pronounced from the strain – Reyes answered heatedly, “You're too cute when you beg.”

“I'm serious-” Marduk said, ignoring the jagged twinges in his back, glaring up at his gorgeous husband who smirked through the prickly riot in their skin, a continuously steady hot jolt and cold pulse concentrating in their lower abdomen, drawing through their spine, pooling in their sacs, closer, higher – Reyes slapped a hand over his own mouth and shoved his shoulder into Marduk's open mouth, silencing their combined shouts as the last wave of heat enveloped their muscles followed immediately by a warm pulse, splash after splash of cum erupted inside Reyes, completely saturating his core, he smothers himself against Marduk, breathing in their heavy musk, riding out every hot pulse released within his body and feels his cock finally _give_ , every shot of cum ricochets it's way out, burning him inside out and leaving an empty warmth in its place.

“ _Goddamn!_ ” Marduk hissed, unclamping his teeth from Reyes' shoulder where a dark kiss-bruise lingers instead of teethmarks, he slowly pulled away only to discover their t-shirts stuck together by their spent semen, Reyes offered a sheepish smile and a sated kiss, Marduk tugged their collective robes and t-shirts off and wadded up the sticky mess they both made on the floor, “Santa needs a break.”

Reyes stood on his shaky legs, still feeling aftershocks, he took the wad from Marduk and put all their evidence in a bag for laundry day, he then said over his shoulder while fetching another cup for the second esspresso, “Relax, Craig, I'll ride you into the New Year.”

“I hit the jackpot and won a nympho in King's clothing,” Marduk said, taking the cold cup from Reyes, he took a sip as Reyes pulled a chair close up front, Reyes supported Marduk's upper body weight as he leaned on his bare chest and melted into the gentle massage – he yawned while Reyes continued to knead his worked up shoulderblades and lower back, “Really, babe, I can't handle another round if you're thinking what my dick's thinking. Marduk Jr's comatose.”

“Who's gonna help enforce your New Year's resolution?” Reyes asked, taking care to gently warm up each muscle before swiping his palms inward, his hands traced down Marduk's wide back, inside the groove of his spine and ribcage, he took Marduk's muscled ass in both hands and gave a squeeze, “It's Karma, Craig. 'Do unto others what others do unto you'.”

Marduk remembered some of the times he tortured Reyes, the plugs and vibrating prostate massagers during matches, blowjobs and anal beads, vibrators and milking sessions – some of the things he tried on his past one-night-stands, Reyes bore each experience with a smile and a hesitant nod, Marduk Jr stood proud as Marduk Sr lightly slapped the rigid tent between his own legs, he muttered halfheartedly, “Traitor.”

“Two against one, you lose,” Reyes answered, hauling Marduk up over his lap and continuing their cooldown.

One of the older boys, Angél, walked into the kitchenette for a cup of water, what he came across was good enough to post on the internet – he then plopped two Santa hats on both passed out wrestlers (a white Chris Kringle wig on Marduk) and draped the red velvet throw blanket around both men.

Satisfied, Angél took a picture.


	9. 9th Day of X-mas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancient Ogre/Eddy Gordo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another for justice321...still incomplete, but it'll be updated with a smut  
> Happy belated Valentine's Day

_'Take His heart, the heart as black as night and harder than stone, and he will grant you one wish...'_ or so the nearby villagers said, Eddy had no choice, what with his employer Jin Kazama missing and the Zaibatsu amidst scandal and chaos, he figured the last place to investigate was the fantastical rumors of a God,  a n ancient God of mischief and magic, the patron benefactor of royalty and death,  _'...Fail, and you'd wish you died a mortal's death.'_

Turning back was as tempting as moving forward, Eddy tightened his utility backpack over his shoulders and continued his hike – legs burning, tongue parched, throat dry, chest crushing inward and expanding outward with every labored breath, he made his way through the dense rainforest, the humid air made every breath heavier, gradually fogging up his clear thinking, the blindingly green kaleidoscope of color combined with the white-blue of the cloudless sky gave him a headache – more than halfway to his destination, Eddy refused to listen to his own judgment, the voice of his consciousness urging him to turn around and forget his quest, his heart whispered differently, within his chest pumped his stubborn heartbeat in the familiar obstinate rhythm called life.

As long as Eddy was alive, he knew that he had a chance of finding the mythical God whom allotted wishes jealously, his GPS beeped steadily on his right wrist, signaling his closeness to the temple he sought, pushing away the last matted tangle of vines, Eddy took in the sight of the scene spread out before him: his boots scuffed on the tightly-fitted edge of a soapstone road leading in the four directions, decorated hills and temples stood undisturbed at the roadsides, the white stones gleaming and bleached from the constant sunlight and wash from the monsoons, at the very center stood a mountain made of limestone and quartz, inlays of black volcanic glass glinted in the sunlight, the stairway climbing skyward to the clouds was stained by the eons of blood spilled for the mysterious God.

After a deep grounding breath, Eddy dug his boot heels into the moist dirt and broke away from the humid forest, he checked each of the smaller temples just to be sure of his decision: the floors of the small temples were littered with clay plates, some ancient, some fairly recent, showing the modern extent of the locals' worship to the ancient Gods, he left the offerings of food and various valuables undisturbed, thinking to himself that he should show respect if he was to garner a favor in return.

Finally satisfied with his short but thorough exploration, Eddy took the first step up the bloodstained staircase on the 'mountain', an unknown sensation grew in the pit of his stomach, water and acid reaching up through his body, burning the last remains of his sanity along the way, the feeling was _indecision_ – whether to be given the opportunity to kill Kazuya with his bare hands, to rid the world of Jin Kazama and avenge himself of his own helplessness of finding the cure to his master's illness, or more strongly, resurrect his dead _Maestre_ (master)...

 _'So many choices...so many possibilities...'_ a cold breeze cut through the hot air, piercing the constant baking sunlight glaring at Eddy's back, the voice spoke so softly that it may have only been the wind carrying pollen and prayers, _'After a millinea, why now does my prodigal nephew incite a visit?'_

The humid air seemed to thin, the stifling heat pushed away by the suddenly cold air – the voice ranged from deep and throaty, to low and guttural, and was followed by a high lilting echo, _'For fame? Power? Fortune?'_

Risking a quick glance behind revealed no physical source of the voice echoing, the sound bounced further, reverberating into his body, caressing the coiled serpent of his human bloodlust, _'Revenge?'_

Eddy pressed onward, the burn in his legs subsiding so suddenly that he instantaneously lost balance and caught himself on the high bloodstained stone shelf, the voice whispered quickly as if taking advantage of his sudden weakness, _'To feel their sweet, hot blood running down your face? To feel their life smothered away by your own hands? To punish those cursed Mishimas and Jin Kazama for their sinful fates?'_

The hot stone scalding Eddy's palm failed in reorienting his thinking, or what he _thought_ was only restricted to his mind, the same faceless voice which called to him since his entry into the Third King of Iron Fist Tournament, the same – he balled up his left hand into a tight fist and agitated the forming blister beneath his skin – the voice was always present, forever whispering in the background of the blackness beneath his closed eyelids, hissing and breathing sensual oaths in the ancient language unknown to mankind, the ancient tongue spending hours weaving a fathomless web unto his soul, until Eddy could no longer stand the strangeness of his own life, as if he had no say or ability in the matter when his decisions should have made a bigger difference than barely _slightly_ altering an already hopeless situation...he could almost say the same of his former employer Jin Kazama.

 _'Or do you wish for love? A love as unending, enduring and eternal as the darkness between the light?'_ the question cut off his bitter thoughts of the Mishima infighting – at his side, out of smoke and shadow appeared though the sun was at its highest where even the stepped mountain held almost no shade, the shadow solidified, becoming a single glinting shard of black jagged glass, Eddie stilled as images came clear on the rippled uneven surface, _'Any man, woman, machine, being is yours to want and mine to give...'_

Ever known fighter, those of the Yagami and Kusanagi clan (KoF) made their brief appearance, as did Yoshimitsu, Combot and Jack, Akira Yuki (VF), Wei Fei (VF) and Ken Masters (SF), none piqued Eddy's interest, images of faces melted in, blending into another which left him all the more unsatisfied, images of the Mishimas' stirred only his deep hatred, the blackness of his soul dissolved at Jin Kazama's image, he felt nothing for his former employer, except maybe pity and loyalty, lastly was the beastly apparition: True Ogre.

 _'Ah...'_ the voice reminded Eddy of a deep tunnel as the words echoed in his mind, he bounced back unto his hands, cradling his upper body as his legs reached into the air and swept a powerful arching kick at the image, the black glass dissolved into smoke and the bodiless voice laughed, _'So alive!'_

 _'I should have expected nothing less from the distant offspring of my brother's. You're as stubborn as_ _H_ _e,'_ Eddy thought to himself 'nephew?' and continued up the stepped mountain, raising his burning legs high to catch unto the next staircase, the sun shining above and evaporating his sweat before it could saturate his sleeveless flannel and cargo pants – the voice cared little for his confusion and asked in its six sneering tones, _'Have you made your decision?'_

 _'Revenge...Punishment...Resurrection...Love...'_ reaching the top, he stepped unto the flat stone surface, the temple mouth yawned open its toothless archway, bright pictographs decorated the walls, men kneeling to a large green being, the same large green being pointing to the night sky, another image showed the green being in a fighting stance against a foreign warrior, the pictograph next to the previous' right was the being _inhaling_ the defeated warrior, Eddy was in the slightest disturbed what the voice was offering and what the voice promised if refused, _'Am I not kind, nephew? Patiently humoring your indecision?'_

Kindness from a God was never a good thing, especially one whom had the reputation of gorging himself on his believers' enemy's blood, but at least he knew not to trust the voice's placid tone too deeply, Eddy knew to keep his guard up even while he was trying to remain unmoved by the promises made unto him, _'Am I not a kind, benevolent, tolerant God, nephew?'_

“You're also most jealous, spiteful, caustic and a pain,” Eddy said aloud, not really sure if the voice could _hear_ or if it could _respond_ , he did anyway, being that he was already tired and confused about how he was related to the God, or so the God claimed as an almost physical growl echoed from the depths of the temple, he continued on warily, “Your anger just proves my point.”

 _'_ _I am many things, child_ _,'_ the voice responded unmistakably from a hole in the temple's stone flooring at the very end of the dark temple, Eddy pulled a flashlight from his backpack and illuminated darkness, the white halo lent a feeble glow as if unable to pierce the thick opaque blackness, an open skylight in the ceiling was choked by an overgrown foliage of root and vine, emptied bowls and ceramic jars littered the floor, some smelling of liquid cacao and others of bone broth, his feet crunched along a cleared path made from brittle yellow flower petals, each wall contained different pictographs, but always the same horrific story of the large green being overlooking the dead, _'_ _I am, I take my rightful offerings and if I so will it,_ _I_ _may_ _whet my appetite with the blood of a certain someone._ _'_

“Gods aren't supposed to meddle,” Eddy hissed beneath his breath, he kept the flashlight beam at least a half dozen paces ahead, glancing behind, he saw the daylight gradually dying until the creeping darkness swallowed everything but his courage, though the space between the high pillars and the walls were spaced far apart, Eddy felt the temple _breathing_ , cold air rushing past him, sucking him in like a breath, hot air pushing him back, as if exhaling, the sweat collected on his body evaporated as a new bout of cold sweat broke out on his body, hypnotized by the continuous push and pull of air, Eddy kept his steady pace along the path of dried flowers, “Gods are restricted to their temples and their books.”

 _'You must have me confused, mortal, with my brother and those other celestial beings we make pacts with every time you humans multiply,'_ the voice answered with an air of satisfaction, the six tones fluttered around the vast room, rhythmic breaks in between as new tones broke out, the God laughed in such a dismissive insentient manner that Eddy could almost understand the God's boredom of being cooped up inside the dark temple, _'I, like several beings, deal directly with death_ _and destruction_ _._ _Many are like me, few are just as powerful...alike my foreign counterpart Azazel._ _'_

Mentioning Azazel, the eastern catalyst-God of destruction and disaster, Eddy hesitated taking the next step, not for fear of the disembodied God speaking to him or the mention of Azazel whom his former employer Jin Kazama destroyed during the previous Tournament, he took a moment to wonder to himself how many Gods ruled all aspects of humanity, from the fall of rain in one area, to another where drought remained decades still unbroken, and how many of these so-called _pacts_ foretold the born human's fate – what God ruled over the Mishimas? What merciless deity allowed such hate and cruelty to create all the turmoil erupting in the world? Eddy thought to ask the God of the Mishima's if their union was favorable.

 _'Luckily for you, I cannot touch you until the totem of your fate is_ _shattered_ _by my brother,'_ the voice again interrupted Eddy's thoughts, burning itself deeper into his consciousness, his steps faltered, the ground felt uneven, the cold stone flooring rippling, distorting, the pale disk illuminating the floor shook, his arms began to shake uncontrollably, his fingers loosened so much from the sweat that the flashlight slid from his grasp, sputtering like a camera flash for a few times before it went out completely, the voice spoke with an unsympathetic conviction, _'_ _Your precious master and his granddaughter are my descendants, they are mine to do with as I please...they are my offspring, made flesh of my immortality, blood of my collective energy,_ _given breath because I simply thought their existence_ _amusing_ _._ _'_

“If you have all that power, all that bottled boredom, limitless energy and time to spare...” Eddy said, striving forward without the light to guide his steps – he wondered for years of the question he asked, “...why did you allow Jin Kazama to kill you, Ogre?”

 _'You're not as clever as I’ve given your past ancestors credit for,'_ the singular six tones gave a flat chuckle once Eddy uncovered the owner's identity – Eddy toed around the darkness, feeling along the floor with the tip of his shoes and clearing away as much debris as possible before he took another step, he did not know where he was going or why he was so determined to reach his destination, but he knew what awaited him was the explanation of _why_ his Maestre died, the next words echoing in the endless darkness shocked him into stillness, _'After a brief glimpse into his future, I allowed him to break his human shell and awaken as the Devil. Jin Kazama needed a drive, a reason for fighting, to hate his Mishima blood, to despise his human weakness and helplessness – he needed me to nudge him toward his ultimate destiny.'_

_'I simply allowed him to destroy my physical body, not my collective divine energy.'_

Hearing that Ancient Ogre lived on, Eddy's mind seemed as if to fracture, the opaque bleakness no longer felt as if his eyes were slowly stretched open with dull knives, the musty sweet scent of decay no longer caused his nose and throat to itch, the strength of his muscles dying away – the voice explained further without the slightest hint of pity for the one they spoke of, _'Jin Kazama unlocked a small fraction of his full potential, and accomplished in five years what would have taken me fifty, or a millinea leaving all the world in a beautiful chaos_ _by his own hate for the Mishima_ _...'_

The weight on Eddy's back became unbearable, and yet, he walked onward, a tiny gray pinprick so small that he nearly walked past appeared to his left...or right...he was so confused that he could have been walking _up_ and spied the glow _sideways_ if he knew any better, but the darkness payed tricks with his mind and his body, making him feel like he was weightlessly journeying along a gently sloping and curving stone path, the shadows gave way to more tiny gray glowing pinpricks, the entire room gradually lighting up with an infinity of suspended fireflies – some white, some blue, some red, some displaying a strobe of many colors, all very much alive to themselves and pulsing their gentle hues proudly.

Eddy carefully walked amongst them, each moving aside and making room as he followed a path made by their brightest neighbors, several bodies flew in and out, a torch at first came into view, then a small dark nut, the second was a glowing crystal with a swirling smoky center, the next was a sphere made of water and the body of a sectioned green alligator swam on its surface, behind was a ball of brittle red clay, after came a neat section of cracked seeds moving as one body, then a large smoldering ball of colored smoke pushed past Eddy who quickly stepped aside from its overpowering stench, next was a smaller muli-colored crystal with a fluorescent halo of translucent seeds around its center, the last tiny three seemed unextaordinary at first glance, but proved to be beautiful and mysterious round clots of moist algae and soil.

 _'Watching blood-feuds unfold is premium entertainment,'_ the voice caressed his spine, like a warm feather breezing down the nerves of his vertebra, swirling from his tailbone and up to his neck, even deeper still until the heat rested within his skull, burning him from the inside out and pulsing a cool sensation before the heat became too unbearable, the sensation echoed like the voice in the temple's chamber throughout Eddy's body, _'_ _You bore me with your curiosity about the past. What did you come here for, truly?_ _'_

The darkness ahead dissipated slightly, revealing a throne of bones and a ten storey tall man seated atop, a heavy headdress of smooth jade nuggets and medallions of red coral and inlays of mother of pearl glinted from the crimson shine of his blazing eyes, the carved black glass head piece obscured his nose and mouth with an animalistic set of jaws, the thick golden collar at his neck held a disk of black volcanic glass tightly to his chest, the heavy golden girdle at his hips fastened his tassled red loincloth to his tapered hips, his golden jaguar cape draped over one shoulder lazily and covered a vast surface of the stone floor where a million tiny ants pulled the cape every which way as if vying for the God's attention, the being sitting upon the throne ignored their tiny pulls and scrapes of their spindly legs – his enormous glowing scarlet eyes seemed as if to see through Eddy, staring into his soul and beyond, watching the shadows and smoke moving beyond the capoiera fighter's understandability.

Curious of the God's divided attention, Eddy glanced behind and stood back amazed: the organic objects circled around the spherical burning torch and the fireflies glowed suspended still mid-flight, the miles of uneven wavy stone turned out to be the temple made perfectly concave to accommodate the revolving orbs, he carefully looked into the masterfully cylindrical indenture which appeared crater-like, the inside being the Mayan calendar carved into the flooring where three boulders of turquoise kept track of the precise year and age and day by rolling upon the polished stone tiles accordingly – Eddy looked back up at the tremendous God's amused stare as he realized that he walked the entire fifty miles across at a dead slant, the God's fanged jaws making his red eyes seem all the more menacing and predatory from the sudden realization of the celestial majesty he stood beneath.

“So you were behind the entire feud? Between the Mishima Zaibatsu and G Corporation?” Eddy asked, resisting the enormous God's careless allure, Ogre's body was a sickly alabaster dull green tone beneath the black paint which melted away and made him seem more unearthly, untouchable and ethereal at the same time – Eddy's distrust in the God deepened as well as his desire, he asked unconsciously in his mind, _'You're the one who killed my master?'_

Ogre reached up across his throne and took a hold of the black glass jaws covering the lower half of his face, his movement slow and breathtaking like watching a Sphinx stand up from the sand – Eddy fell to his knees as the God revealed himself: Ogre's eyes were small, deep-set and forever tilted at a fierce angle, his nose wide and hawk-like, his lips full and mouth set above his square jawbones, the face bore a disturbing _gleefulness_ , not that the God smiled or made any indication that he was feeling anything other than far above humanity, just the feeling that he was enjoying Eddy's expression of shock.

Years ago during the Third King of Iron Fist Tournament, Eddy recalled the night after his defeat: he never advanced far enough to fight against the young prodigy Jin Kazama or Heihachi Mishima, he lost to his rival Kazuya Mishima and spent the next two days of his loss in complete depression in a provided Zaibatsu room, crippled beyond comprehension by his sadness, Eddy was _pushed_ outside of his body while he slept comatose in a vegetative condition, finally aware of his 'out of body' state, Eddy could do nothing more than stand by helplessly as a green person took his unresponsive body and ravaged him mercilessly – those burning scarlet eyes never once blinking or looking away from his spiritual self as his still-dormant physical body was used for the next ensuing hours.

 _'My actions in the Third Tournament and the recently held Second Tag Tournament-'_ Eddy sensed the recognition crossing his face like a shadow deeper than the surrounding darkness, Ogre's expression grew sinister still, the six voices blending into a single growl the more Eddy listened and seemed as if to dismiss their earlier encounter from unmoving lips, _'-was simply a...favor,_ _fulfilling an ancient promise,_ _from one supreme being to another.'_

Oddly enough, the way Ogre gave a passing mention of their encounter felt... _empty_...and he felt the same for the admission itself, Eddy felt a mixture of warring emotions: part angry, in the most misused, in the slightest _hurt_ and _betrayed_ by his own body – the latter two caused the most turmoil, being that he held no grudges against the God and that he never experienced another man's intimate contact – but the free flowing moans that Ogre wrung from _his own_ disobedient mouth in _his own_ traitorous voice and caused _his own_ unfaithful form to contort into works of sensual pleasure...after that hellish week, Ogre carved himself a sizable bitter chip on Eddy's shoulder.

“I'm not allowed to ask Who,” Eddy continued their conversation after remembering his presence before the massive God – by divine proxy, Eddy knew that the only God to ever break into the physical realm was the catalyst God Azazel, but he never saw another deity among the living, maybe except the Mishimas and Jin Kazama who seemed to be evil touched by virtue and ultimately retained his humanity throughout his demonic change, he decided to ask the question plaguing him for as long as his hate for Kazuya was his earliest memory, “Are humans supposed to expect another war? Another pointless cataclysm?”

> ...Eddy recalled standing over his own unconscious face-up body shortly after his loss to Kazuya Mishima during the Third Tournament, Ogre kneeling down and spreading his legs, his spiritual self could only look on in horror as his physical self's clothing was ripped away, the sensation of tearing clothing not once disturbing his physical self's vegetative state, helpless to the taking of his own body, Eddy finally sprung into action and ran at Ogre, he reached forward as he kicked off his left foot and flew straight through their physical forms, the deity simply looked over one massive shoulder at Eddy's grounded spirit, the tiniest hint of a smirk stretching one side of his green lips beneath the golden headdress – without further ado, Ogre reached behind his golden girdle, easily peeling aside his loincloth to expose his cock – realizing the God's intentions, Eddy ineffectively dove toward his body to no avail, his spirit could not quite grasp his heart and connect to his mind, leaving his physical body vulnerable to Ogre's assault...

_'That depends...'_ Ogre answered again without physically speaking, stepping down the throne, each step he took down the pyramid-like steps made the God appear smaller and smaller, until his gold and jewel-clad form stood over Eddy, not quite seeing eye to eye being that he was taller than both GIGAS and Jack-7, Ogre's grand towering height still made the God hunch down slightly, peering into Eddy's eyes and asking almost in an acrimoniously charitable manner, _'You would do anything for your master, wouldn't you?'_

> ...Eddy awoke two weeks later in the Manji Clan's secret infirmary, his heavy eyes peeling open from the thick crusts formed inside his eyes and eyelashes, his lungs expanding forcefully and being sucked of oxygen, the blunt heaviness in his limbs brought back only visual reminders of his long hours beneath Ogre, he felt bruised and split open from his tailbone to his inner stomach, his inner muscles stretched and contorted beyond normal, the morphine and muscle relaxants lent him a glimmer of consciousness and dulled a small degree of the pain, he thought to himself, _'_ _I hate dick._ _'_

“I don't stand a chance, Ogre-” Eddy said, slinging off his backpack and dumping the contents unto the stone floor – his next admission fought begrudgingly past his tight jaws in a muted hiss, “-against those damned Mishimas'. I'm as good as dead after you have your fun. That is if you don't leave me dying like the _first time_.”

> … “Anemia - heavy bruising in the colon, no intravenous hemorrhaging \- traces amount of opiates in the blood – bone bruises in the hip bone and pelvic bone...” or so the medical specialists told Eddy during his physical rehabilitation, they checked him as if he was an open-eyed autopsy corpse, his mind reeling from each new discovery, his body unable to pick itself up from the hospital bed, the only thing he was capable of was blinking, his bodily functions and breathing were left to state of the art machines beneath Doctor Bosconovitch's kindly care – the checkup continued, “-stomach lining contains trace amounts of cacao – various welts ranging in size upon lower extremities – various discolorations...”

_'We shall see,'_ Ogre's eyes flashed as Eddy glared – Eddy recalled how he forced himself to walk again, the Manji took care of him for the next couple of weeks until he was able to leave and no longer take advantage of the Manji Clan's kindness, his capoeira master then retaught his body how to move fluidly and flawlessly – Ogre put a hand atop Eddy's head and said, _'I will share with you a vision. A brief glimpse into the future...'_

Shortly after Heihachi Mishima's death, fighters of various disciplines and various backgrounds flock to the Eighth Annual King of Iron Fist Tournament, Kazuya takes hold of the Mishima Zaibatsu, he then combines both the Zaibatsu and G Corporation into a super conglomerate with its own private military, Kazuya's conglomerate then dominates the world – first, through stocks and economics, second, through buying out popular brands and manufacturing high-demand products, lastly, _fear_...

The colors, sounds and images flashed like a kaleidoscope through Eddy's mind, the violent scenes burning themselves into his memory, Eddy could not see how he was to fit into the events of the near future, only that he was uneasy about his own participation as well as all the other fighters' – three primary people stand in Kazuya's way of total domination: Lars Alexandersson, Heihachi's second biological son; Lee Chaolan, the billionaire entrepreneur (we're not going there); and Jin Kazama, deadly in his human form and unstoppable while changed into the Devil...

A dull pain, like a net of cool threads slowly crushing against Eddy's head sharpened the dizzying swirl of images flashing through his mind, two beings in a sea of black war amongst themselves, one with the wings of an indigo demonic dragon and the other attacking with his feathered white wings, a person stands beneath the two, staring upward at their tangling forms, a person in white...the vision recedes to the back of Eddy's mind before he could squint past the falling decay and make out the person's face, the black fog dissolved within the glowing scarlet of Ogre's eyes.

Having been allowed to see the future, Eddy decided to give Ogre the sacrifice he completely forgot about, he knelt before Ogre and reached behind to where he had previously dumped the objects: he pulled up the first offering a full bottle of crimson octli, he laid out a wrapped box of prepared cacao beans next, the last was a rough crystal with colors melting from a pale red into maroon and veins of purple shot through.

Ogre simply motioned the three objects up from the floor, the bottle, box and crystal offerings followed his retreating form to a stone block-like altar covered in jaguar skins – without being told, Eddy rose up onto his legs and came after, observing the God's feast as it laid itself out neatly atop...all this felt strangely _familiar_...

 _'You've offered me too much...'_ Ogre's six intertwining voices said once all the gifts lay unwrapped and uncorked, Eddy did not quite understand, but he knew his offerings were a little excessive, Ogre laid a cool hand atop the colored crystal and Eddy felt his chest clench from where he stood five paces away, _'..._ _all I required was_ _the_ _small sacrifice your blood and your loyalty..._ _'_

“I don't _need_ it,” Eddy hissed as he turned away, Ogre's bare feet padding on the stone floor warned of their closeness, he closed his arms over his chest and looked away from the refused offering, which offended him beyond simple humiliation that his gift was not fit for the God, “Keep it. I don't want it.”

 _'Your stubbornness is what draws me to you,'_ Ogre's answer trickled down Eddy's spine like a caress, soft words and the lightest touch reserved for anything other than the _man_ Eddy was fortunate enough to be born as, large blunt fingertips on his arm gave way to a palm which nearly wrapped around his entire bicep, a thrill shuddered through Eddy's skin as Ogre's cool sinuous touch rubbed down his elbow, _'Your humanity...is what first enticed me...'_

“All it's ever brought me was suffering and sadness,” Eddy spoke of the cursed crystal, finding the unique object was nearly impossible, hauling it around to every tournament was frustrating, nearly losing the crystal brought both stress and the always-present twinge of longing, he would rather not feel any of those emotions again and so he tightened his arms over his chest and said at a near-pleading whisper, “Don't ask me to keep it.”

 _'Your vulnerability...'_ as if sensing Eddy's unease, Ogre stepped closer until they nearly touched, his massive right hand still rubbing Eddy's left shoulder and bicep, the God emphasized by adding the slightest pressure on Eddy's tense arm, _'Your strength...'_

Curious, Eddy turned around, not stepping away or backing off, his eyes first passed over the crystal and strayed to Ogre's left hand which lay deftly still atop Eddy's shoulder, he shifted on his feet nervously, one of his habits of reflexively snapping into _ginga_ if the situation became too tense for words.

 _'Everything...'_ Ogre's crimson eyes gleamed within the glow of the immense ball of fire burning at the center of the nine objects suspended overhead, a firefly occasionally whizzing past went unnoticed, Eddy still could not fathom the God's feelings or thoughts, but it seemed that Ogre tried to reason with his human self and make his intentions clear, _'Even what you_ _judge as_ _weakness..._ _tempts_ _me all more...'_

Being seen as a mortal plaything was the furthest thing from Eddy's mind, in Ogre's explanation was respect, longing and envy, desolation, and maybe, Eddy watched Ogre's expression closer, he found himself falling deeper in the crevice of his own misery, just seeing Ogre's gentle eyes made him all the more attached to the cursed crystal still cradled in Ogre's hand like a small fruit, the crystal called for Eddy's hands to hold it's weight, to feel it's seductive edges cut into his hands, for his eyes to search deep within it's faceted depths until every angle and color was memorized, Eddy glanced away and kept his gaze upon the altar.

 _'Our last time together, years ago...'_ Ogre's voice restricted itself to a low murmur, Eddy's eyes trained back on the God standing before him, he ignored the phantom pain in his lower back which spread it's hot barbs throughout his pelvis and abdomen, up his spine and down his thighs, the aftermath was fresh in his mind, the healed bruises inside his body as devastating and unforgettable as the dim sensation of orgasm's aftereffect, Ogre pressed the crystal back unto Eddy along with a soft nuzzle to his forehead, _'...I shall reward you since your body suffered me so valiantly...'_

Again, Eddy turned his face away and pulled his arms tighter against his chest, the God nuzzled the dread locks on his head and he felt the jagged weight on his arms, he growled, “Didn't I say I don't want it?”

 _'What is a human without his heart?'_ Ogre asked simply from still lips, Eddy remembered then as he glanced past the God's gold braced arms and cloaked shoulder: the altar where he laid the three gifts were gone and in its place lay his body completely nude, his clothing in a trail on the floor leading from the darkness where he entered just minutes prior – the _truth_ and _familiarity_ of the situation was beginning to terrify him.

“Invincible,” Eddy answered quietly, his eyes assessing his nude body laid atop the altar and barely covered in leopard skins, he stepped back from Ogre, thinking with defeated clarity that he was either hallucinating what he wished was real or he was witnessing a _fraction_ of the God Ogre's power, and being shown how absolutely _needless_ and bothersome his presence was deemed, Eddy charged his fist into the crystal out of frustration and his inability to accomplish the simplest task: understanding Ogre's simple question.

 _'Defeated...'_ Ogre's voice solidified inside the God's throat, the weight of realization lifted it's burden from Eddy's shoulders and he gasped a single breath as Ogre forced the crystal into Eddy's stomach, he thought to himself that he was suffering penance by having the cursed crystal's edges sever his insides, tearing long thin welts into his sinew, ripping through his stomach and forcing his ribcage so wide that he nearly passed out, Ogre's words echoed in his mind, _'...humiliating to having been unable to overcome mortality's hardships...'_

As the God carried his body back to the altar, Eddy remembered everything:  he had been journeying through South America in search of the ancient temple dedicated to Ogre or as Heihachi call the God  _'Toshin'_ ,  he spent his entire savings from being Lucky Chloe's backup dancer and even the loans he acquired in the hopes of finding  _Toshin's_ main temple, several weeks passed until he barely had enough saved up for his next trip to the upcoming Third Annual Tag Tournament, and alas coming across the temple, Eddy realized with embarrassing horror that he had not brought a single  _offering_ or a  _gift_ of gold dust, he remembered coming into the temple, seeing the altar and stripping down to nothing with as much courage as he could muster, and watching the deity Ogre manifest himself from smoke before the altar to take part in Eddy's sacrifice, Eddy suddenly  _slipped_ from his body again and stood wandering through the temple until he thought Ogre done with his physical body, he came back to see his physical body still laying undisturbed and untouched. 

E ddy watched his body from behind Ogre, his own nude chest peacefully rising and falling, his nudity tucked away beneath the soft leopard skins, Ogre hooked his massive right arm around Eddy's shoulders while his left hand still lay clasped inside Eddy's chest, gently squeezing the crystal between Eddy's lungs, they stood before Eddy's nude body, Ogre's voice emitted in six intertwining tones,  _'If you wish, bare your inner flesh to me. Show me your soul...'_

Truly, anyone in the Tournaments could think whatever they wanted of Eddy Gordo, whether he would be seen as Jin Kazama's left-hand or the charity project, whether it was the vengeful man or the son of an inmate – but as he shed his clothes, _who_ he was became clear to Ogre, _'I am a fighter._ _My family and Maestre is my crux._ _I can't stand_ _watching others suffer. I love with all my heart. I give with all my heart. I fight with all the love my heart has to give._ _'_

Bare, Eddy climbed atop the altar, laying himself atop his body, taking a deep breath as the crystal beat within the protective embrace of Ogre's gentle hand, his heart no longer beating at a sentient rhythm, he felt alive, so truly in command of his own destiny if he wanted, the leopard skin brushing his skin made him realize his own vulnerability, Ogre said then, _'In your most fragile state, you are strongest...you seduce me, entrap me as no mortal has ever done. I refuse to take the heart from such a delicacy...'_

“Then I'll live, Ogre-” Eddy answered, his heart taking hold of his spirit and shocking him with the sensation of Ogre's left hand still lodged within his chest, he sat up on the stone altar, his feet dangling and laying flat upon the altar's decorated surface, the skins falling away and leaving him nude, his hands wrapping around Ogre's thick left arm which still reached into his body and softly held his heart, the sensation was not so unpleasant, Eddy felt a great weight lifted from his mind and a lightness in his cradled heart, the physical warmth spread and grew from Eddy's chest, “-only for as long as you don't break my heart.”

 _'Call my name...'_ Ogre's voice echoed in Eddy's mind, the metaphysical sound carrying throughout the vast temple and resounding inside Eddy's body, _'...and I shall lend my strength.'_

Ogre truly meant his word, for with a single shred of his own power peeled away and slithered from the pronounced vein in his left arm, swimming through his muscles and into Eddy's heart where his etherized energy rested deep, like a never-ending kiss, the tiny gift of fragmented volcanic glass throbbed inside his heart, expanding and contracting, bending and nuzzling, omnipresent as the God who gifted the fragment was omnipresent and occupying the single space where Eddy sat upon the altar – Eddy only felt ever grander and powerful than Ogre, being that Ogre decided to be seen like a servant than a God.

 _'I claim you from your Gods,'_ Ogre said at last, kneeling his immense frame and taking hold of one of Eddy's ankles, he licked his long sandpaper tongue on his ankle and pressing his lips to Eddy's feet, the God glanced up from his work but continued as his voice reverberated outward, _'I am the one who chooses_ _how_ _and_ _where_ _you die...'_

The light allowed limited illumination, what each saw in each other shone on the surface of their bodies: Ogre drank in Eddy's body, the long stout sinew of his legs, wide hips and a solid abdomen, the wide chest and long arms, he was almost ashamed to lick his lips after thinking how _delicious_ the human appeared, yet seeing a disturbing vulnerability in the man's face...Ogre pushed all thoughts away of feeding, he would take only what he needed, just enough to _memorize_ Eddy's taste, nothing more than a few bloodless bruises or a few stray tears, but not how he forcefully sated his lust during all those years ago on the fighter's body.

 _'You, Eddy Gordo, will choose_ _when_ _we shall join for eternity,'_ Ogre said, kissing along Eddy's shin, the cool press of his full lips again bringing forth a new sheen of sweat, _'That is my one grace...'_

Eddy toyed with the thought of simply walking away and leaving Ogre aroused, taking an empty revenge for the time his body was used and his spirit wandered through the Zaibatsu compound, he recalled nothing during his wanderings if there was anything he could have done to aid his former employer Jin Kazama, he recalled the near-crippled state he was left in after being allowed to inhabit his body – the straightforward statement Ogre set before him nearly undone his thoughts of payback, he asked quietly, “Are you asking for my consent?”

 _'_ _Are you asking me to ask?_ _'_ Ogre's eyes narrowed in the slightest, Eddy simply sat back if impatiently awaiting with all the time in the world to spare, just as he moved to test Ogre's resolve, Eddy shuddered as Ogre's hand unclenched his heart and pressed both massive hands on his hips, the God stated simply, _'I am. I will do nothing to displease you further, whether you reject my offer or accept my request.'_

“In that case-” Eddy said, he laid his hands atop Ogre's shoulders, not pushing away or stopping his already-halted advances, power radiated from the covered muscles, and yet his simple touch restrained Ogre from simply pushing his body down and taking what was asked, the simple show of control over his own lust gave Eddy the slightest bit of confidence in the God's word, “-don't disappoint me when I call your name.”

 _'Punish me then for my unfavorable behavior,'_ Ogre's six voices lowered and echoed – Eddy leaned his head down, simply watching the scarlet glow of the God's iris as the pupils dimmed the overall effect slightly, he wrapped his arms around the grand headdress and took a slow breath, savoring his last draw of the air and suppressing a moan as his cock stood rigid and leaked precum, _'Show me how to hold you without breaking you.'_

Eddy initiated the kiss, his breath lingering at the tip of his tongue as Ogre lapped his soft sandpaper tongue over his lower lip, the God's hot breath contrasting with his cool skin – they both knew Ogre was implying Eddy's death, all the human hoped was for his life to be long and their nights together even longer, and for his luck to change, Ogre's admission proved that he would be granted his unspoken wish.

 

*Cra!ck Bonus*

Thankfully, none of the Manji and Doctor Bosconovitch ever mentioned what happened to Eddy, the _what_ was obvious but not the _identity_ of the perpetrator, the Manji Clan being both charitable and virtuous, they readily launched a short-lived investigation after Eddy became conscious enough to give a description, being that he never once seen Ogre face to face or advanced far enough into the Tournament to be allowed information on the semifinals roster, Yoshimitsu volunteered himself to be the sketch artist.

“Eh? Does this pervert travel with a talking donkey? No? Does he kidnap princesses and have a spiny shell on his back? No? Does resemble a tiny t-rex and wears a saddle on his back? No, no, wrong series, my mistake, Mister Eddy,” Yoshimitsu asked, taking all the serious matter in his own hands to sketch Eddy's attacker – his mechanical hands wielding a paintbrush over pots of paint, his armor clanking along as he slapped colors together on a parchment and glancing up from the floor at Eddy's seated form, once seeing Eddy shake his head at the possible suspects, Yoshimitsu scratched away the used parchment and laid down a new sheet before continuing the process all over again, “He must be a part of that children's entertainment troupe. With the porto-monsters, the electric mouse and fire lizard and the squirt-turtle. 'Double-butt-sore', was that it's name?”

“Ah-hah! Red hair! Wields immense power! Muscular! _Green!_ ” Yoshimitsu shouted and jumped up from the ground unto his sword, one left hand scratching at his faceplate as he whizzed along on the ancient blade, Eddy had to jog alongside to keep up as Yoshimitsu zipped around the Manji's infirmary compound to their modern research facility a brisk two mile walk away, Yoshimitsu stopped before a computer monitor while Eddy caught his breath, Yoshimitsu pointed out the image of a strange electric beast with a mane of long bristly red hair, Eddy quickly answered with a 'You've gotta be kidding me' – Yoshimitsu then stepped down from his sword, staggering away to the nearest open door and hung his head against the doorway, “I'm sorry, Mister Eddy. I was so sure that you were speaking of Mister Blanca. There is another green giant that's been illusive during our search...”

“The Manji Clan dispatched to America came back with promising results-” Yoshimitsu perked up suddenly and returned to the monitor, after a few quick strokes of the keyboard, he brought up a blurry image that looked vaguely suspicious, he produced a business card that meant absolutely nothing except for the obscure logo embossed on the face – Yoshimitsu bounced atop his sword and continued to explain, “-a Mister Stork is his keeper, terrible reception like he was sitting in a wind tunnel. He warned us 'not to get the other guy angry'. Our search shall continue, Mister Eddy, until that giant green pervert is brought to justice.”

“Thank you, Yoshimitsu, please don't bother,” Eddy quickly intervened, though a little put off by the images that did match his description but nothing more to aid the Manji's search, he put a hand on Yoshimitsu's shoulder and gave a small squeeze, “Doctor Bosconovitch and your Manji Clan has already done so much for me. I’m just ready to go and train with my Maestre.”

“I concede,” Yoshimitsu perked up and led the way to their private transport area, - once aboard, Yoshimitsu said to Eddy before his departure, “You're right, Mister Eddy, we're talking a global brand of superheros here. Farewell.”

 _'Green pervert?'_ Eddy laughed to himself.


End file.
